The Second Seal

by Dennis Wheatley

  Ilona had taken it much better than Adam expected. She had been quick to seize upon the fact that de Richleau had committed no crime against Austria, and to point out that, even if he were guilty of all the charges laid against him, whatever he had done had been done in the service of his country. She glowed with pride at the thought of his daring and resource, and the way that he had fooled the Germans, whom they all detested. Above all, she was overjoyed to know that he had succeeded in getting away.

  Over the weekend they had talked of little else; and privately Adam admitted to Sárolta that she had been right in urging him to conceal nothing. It was clear that Ilona did not care if the Duke had committed every crime in the calendar: she thought of him only as her man, and was animated by a new gaiety and happiness from the knowledge that he was safe and free.

  Now, as she lay in bed, she was thinking of him, and wondering what he was doing. Had he become an officer of the British Army? Even if he had, he might be able to get leave and come to Switzerland. If so, she could easily cross the frontier and meet him there. Her doctor was urging her to move there as it was. How marvellous it would be if they could be together again—even for a few days.

  A room on the ground floor had been turned into a bedroom for her, so that she could go straight out to sit in the sunshine on the small terrace, without the fatigue of going up and down stairs. Her curtains had not yet been drawn back and the room was still in semi-darkness; but outside it was full daylight.

  Suddenly the shrilling of the front door bell cut across her thoughts. She wondered who it could possibly be at such an early hour in the morning. It shrilled again, and again—impatiently, urgently. Then there came footsteps in the hall, followed by the faint sound of voices in hurried argument.

  After a few minutes there was a knock on her door, and at her call to enter, one of the housemaids looked in. The girl was not yet fully dressed, and said with a flustered air:

  “I am sorry to disturb Your Highness, but there is a priest here. He insists on seeing you, and won’t take no for an answer.”

  “A priest!” exclaimed Ilona. “What does he want?”

  “He has brought a letter. He says he must give it you personally, and that he promised to deliver it at once. He says it’s from a Count Königstein.”

  In an instant Ilona was out of bed. Her long, curling chestnut hair was loose and unbrushed, but she shook it back from her head, hastily pulled a satin dressing-gown over her nightdress, and cried:

  “Show him in! Show him in at once!”

  As the maid disappeared, Ilona pulled back the curtains of the window, and the early morning sunlight came streaming in. At the joyous thought of a letter from her lover, her heart was pounding as though it would burst through her breast. The blood had rushed to her cheeks; her blue eyes were shining. Turning, she glimpsed the black-robed figure in the still darkened hall just outside the doorway. Stretching out her hand, she gasped excitedly:

  “Bless you for coming, Father! Give it me! Please give it me!”

  The priest stepped across the threshold, quickly closed the door behind him, and only then took off his big shovel-brimmed hat.

  She took one pace forward, staggered and nearly fell. With a little moan of almost unbearable ecstasy, she held out her arms.

  The man in priest’s clothing caught her to him. It was de Richleau.

  * * * * *

  Side by side, his arm about her, they sat upon her crumpled bed. He had told her how he had been caught, and of his trial, and was just beginning the story of his doings after he had left Vienna, when she clapped a soft hand over his mouth.

  “Enough! Enough! Adam found out for me from Major Ronge about all the awful things you’ve done, or that are imputed to you. The truth could not be worse than what they told me. But I’ve forgotten it already; and I refuse to hear another word about it.”

  He kissed her hand and sighed with relief. “You forgive me then?”

  “Of course. Nothing matters except that you have come back to me.”

  “I had to commit another crime this morning to do so,” he confessed. “To get these clothes I had to lay hands on a priest.”

  “Oh Armand! That was sacrilege!” Her eyes widened in sudden horror. “You—you did not——”

  “No. I put him only to a slight inconvenience. When Count Zelltin refused to send my letter to you, I realised that in a priest lay the one chance I had left. I hoped to make him my messenger, but had also to provide against failing in that. I asked them to send him to me at three o’clock. That left ample time for him to take a letter to you; but at that hour, if he refused, everyone except the guard would be asleep. Although I pleaded with him very hard, he did refuse. He said he could not break the regulations. I asked him then if he remembered the words ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s’.”

  Ilona gave her lover a puzzled look. “Why did you ask him that?”

  “That was just what he asked,” smiled the Duke. “My reply was, ‘Because mercy is a thing of God’s, and it should lie in the hearts of all true priests. Since you refuse it me, I must take the things that are Caesar’s—the outward show by which you pass yourself off as a priest.’ As I spoke I moved round behind him. Under my coat I had been holding a small hand towel. I whipped it over his face and tied it firmly to stifle his cries, pulled off his soutane, tied his hands and feet, stuffed my handkerchief into his mouth as a gag, put him in the cot with his face to the wall, pulled the sheets up over his back, put on the things I had taken from him, and rapped on the door for the guard to let me out. As I passed him I murmured a blessing, and raised the priest’s hat to the level of my face to hide it from him for a moment before putting the hat on. Then I walked off down the corridor with bent shoulders and my hands clasped behind my back, as though in deep thought. It was still dark outside, but I didn’t dare take a chance with another guard on the main gate of the barracks, so I came out over the wall of the Commandant’s garden.”

  Ilona kissed him, and murmured with a smile: “You are the most thrilling man. And that horrid priest deserved it. How dare he refuse a condemned man’s last request. I have my own chaplain living in the house, and he is a darling. I am sure he will absolve you from what you did, before you go. But, Armand, you should never have come here.”

  “I had to see you, beloved.”

  “Oh, my love! I know! But you shouldn’t have. You should never have allowed that to weigh against your life. You should have swum the river while darkness lasted. You would have been safe then. Now it is daylight; you have thrown away that chance, and are in mortal peril again.”

  Her lovely face now filled with alarm, she hurried on: “We must hide you, and provide you with different clothes. Uncle Otto used to come here quite often, and there is a whole wardrobe of his things upstairs. I am sure they would fit you. We’ll hide you in the cellar for the day, then you must get across the river Tonight.”

  De Richleau shook his head. “I fear they’ll not give me much chance to do that. I hadn’t the time to make a detour and climb the mountain, so I had to come through the village to get here. It was daylight then, and a dozen people saw me. They are certain to have remarked the presence of a strange priest in a small place like Hohenembs. To start with, Ronge will probably assume that I got across the river; but he’s too much of a born bloodhound to take that for granted, and he knows I regard you as my protectress. As soon as he has made inquiries along the river bank, he will come out to Hohenembs. Someone who saw me come up here will give him the good news. He will ask you to surrender me, and if you say I have left he won’t believe you. He’ll picket the river Tonight and put a ring of troops round the châlet, and keep them there till he gets me. I wouldn’t have a hope of getting through.”

  The tears started to her eyes. “Oh, Armand, you were mad to come! It will kill me if they re-arrest you. What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve still got a life line left,�
� he smiled, and produced his letter to her from his pocket. “This, my sweet Princess, is a petition to you. It gives particulars of my court martial, and on reading them I think any lawyer would agree that I have been condemned on insufficient evidence. It humbly begs you to request Count Zelltin to stay the execution of the sentence until further investigations have been made. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I can do that; but I have no authority in legal matters. I cannot force him to. He may refuse.”

  “I hardly think he is likely to do that. No officer would deliberately go out of his way to offend a member of the Imperial Family.”

  “But if he agrees: to what will it lead?”

  “To my re-trial in Vienna.”

  “How can that benefit you?”

  “It will give me time. I may get a chance to escape again. At a second trial I might be acquitted on the capital charges, and get off with only a spell of prison for having crossed the frontier illegally.”

  “No!” she shuddered. “No! The risk is too great. From what Adam said, the case is terribly black against you. There are those two Germans that you hit on the head and left half-dead in East Prussia. You can’t possibly escape conviction for that. And they will never forgive you. Even if I asked the Emperor for a pardon for you, he couldn’t grant it in a case like this. We are terribly dependent on Germany now, and dare not give offence to the German Ambassador. A re-trial could only lead to your being condemned again, and—and shot.”

  De Richleau knew that she was right. He had hatched his scheme when in dire extremity, with the object of securing a postponement of his sentence. It could still serve for that, but no more. He felt now that his other thoughts about Count Tisza coming to his rescue had been only wishful thinking.

  Ilona threw a bare arm round his neck. “Your idea of a petition is no good, darling. It means that I should have to give you up to them when they come for you. Once Ronge has got you back into his clutches he will make very certain that you do not escape again. You are free now, and you must stay free. That is your only chance. How long do you think it will be before they come here?”

  “They might arrive at any moment. My escape will have been discovered soon after five, when they went to my cell to get me. But I think it unlikely that they will come straight here. It is much more probable that Ronge and Count Zelltin have sent out all the men they can muster to make inquiries, and are sitting in the middle of the spider’s web, waiting for reports to come in. Sooner or later one of their men will telephone that I was seen in Hohenembs, then they will jump in a car and drive out to question you. But that may not happen for an hour or two yet.”

  “I must get you more time, somehow.” Ilona beat a fist desperately on her knee. “If only they can be put off from coming for a few hours, you could get away into the mountains before they put a cordon of troops round the house.”

  For a moment they sat deep in thought; then she exclaimed, “I have it! I will telephone them myself. I will say that you tried to break in on me, and that my people seized you—and that when we found out who you were Adam had you locked up in the cellar. I’ll say that he had already told me all Ronge had told him about you, and I was horrified to think that you should have expected me to protect you. So I want them to come out here and take you back to prison. But not until half past ten; as I want to hear more about your case from them, and my doctor does not allow me to get up till then.”

  De Richleau smiled. “My own, you are a wonder. It is barely half past six yet, so if I can get away by seven your plan will give me three and a half hours’ clear start.”

  She stood up, shaking back her long chestnut curls again. “We must not lose a moment. I’ll telephone at once, before they have a chance to learn that you were seen in Hohenembs. Then I’ll wake Adam and Sárolta. He’ll get you Uncle Otto’s clothes and provide you with a map of the district. Sárolta can have some food got ready for you while I dress. And I’ll send for my chaplain to absolve you for having laid hands on that horrid priest.”

  As she made a move towards the door he checked her. “Even if it costs me my life, I must snatch a few moments to hold you in my arms.”

  She abandoned herself to his embrace, and they clung desperately together. Then she burst into tears and cried, “Oh, my dear one, my dear one! Why didn’t you cross the river when you had the chance? Why did you have to come here and risk your life again?”

  “For the same reason that I left France and crossed the Rhine on Saturday night. You look so beautiful that I can’t believe it’s true. But I had to see you again before——before——”

  She jerked her face away from his and stared into his eyes. “What do you mean, Armand? Tell me what you mean?”

  “I was in Paris,” he faltered. “I went to a lunch in aid of a tuberculosis charity. A friend of mine who was running it cited your case as an example of how swiftly the disease can strike down a young and healthy woman. She had seen Bruckner only a few days before, and he had told her that—that you had only—not long to live.”

  “Bruckner!” Ilona exclaimed. Then she gave a laugh. “What Bruckner said isn’t true, darling. It isn’t true! I’ve a new doctor now—another Swiss, named Kutz, has been attending me since the beginning of the month. He has been working for years on a wonderful serum. I shall never be strong. I won’t live to be an old woman. I’ve let things go too far. But he swears that he can check the disease. I’m not going to die, darling! I’m not going to die. He has promised me at least a few more years of life.”

  De Richleau was near to tears as he murmured, “Oh, my heart! How I thank God for this!”

  Ilona kissed him again, violently upon the mouth. Then she sighed. “If only you can get away, we may be happy yet. This morning, just before you arrived, I was making marvellous plans. Dr. Kutz wants me to take a châlet in Switzerland near his clinic. If I went there you could come to see me. Even if you are a soldier, you could spend your leaves with me.”

  He nodded, his grey eyes shining. “Yes! Yes! I asked for a month before I left Paris. If only I can get over the river Tonight, you could join me in St. Gall to-morrow. I’ve got to get away now! I’ve got to!”

  “But you said it was certain that Ronge would have all the men he can get out picketing the river Tonight.”

  “True! I fear he will. Then, much as I shall grudge them, perhaps I had better wait for a few nights before making the attempt to cross.”

  “You can’t live for long alone in the mountains; and if you go to one of the farms the people might betray you.”

  “If you can get me a good start I’ll manage somehow. The very fact of having seen you again, and hearing your wonderful news, will give me fresh courage and endurance.”

  Ilona stood away from him, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked deep into his eyes. “Is it really true, Armand, that you came back to Austria and risked your life only to see me?”

  “Of course!” he replied, his devil’s eyebrows going up in surprise. “Why else should I do so? I could not let you die without making the attempt to reach your bedside.”

  “Oh, but I love you for that,” she whispered. “And how much I want to prove to you that I am worthy of the love you’ve shown me. Perhaps I can. I mean to try.”

  He smiled. “You have no need to prove your love for me. I have never doubted it. And if they get me, somewhere up there in the mountains, I beg you not to grieve too much. Think only of the happy times we have had together, and how infinitely poorer we would have been without them.”

  * * * * *

  At half past ten, Ilona received Count Zelltin and Major Ronge in a small sitting-room. As they bowed before her, they endeavoured to hide their astonishment. She was now fully dressed, but very strangely for such an hour in the morning. Both her costume and her manner suggested that she was about to go to a fancy dress dance as Ophelia in the mad act of Hamlet.

  Her chestnut hair still rippled freely down her back, but on top of her head
blazed a diamond tiara. Beneath it her full red mouth made a splash of violent colour in her dead-white face. She was wearing a ball dress of oyster satin with a short train. Across her breast ran the broad ribbon of the order of Maria Theresa, and with nervous fingers she kept tugging at its ends. Her blue eyes sparkled with a hectic, unnatural light.

  They knew that she had been very ill, and as she waved them to chairs, they wondered uneasily if her illness had affected her brain. When she began to address them in short, excited, sentences, they felt it must be so. Smiling brightly at them, she said:

  “Do you like my dress? I hope you do. I so rarely get a chance these days to put on nice clothes for anyone. I hardly ever have visitors. And this is quite an occasion. First the escaped prisoner, then yourselves. He saw me in my night things. Wasn’t that shocking? But I owe you an apology, gentlemen. I ought to have received you earlier, to tell you all about him. It’s been such a busy morning, though. And such an exciting one! I have been ill, you know. They say excitement is bad for me. But I like it! You see, on top of everything else, I am going on a journey. That’s terribly exciting, isn’t it? After lunch to-day I’m going to Switzerland. I expect to remain there for the duration of the war. In fact I shall probably never come back. The doctors say that I shall never again be strong enough to resume my royal duties. I can’t honestly say that I am sorry about that. Dressing up like this now and then is fun; but not dressing up day after day to talk with a fixed grin to endless people one has never seen before, and never wants to see again. In Switzerland I think I shall buy a dirndl costume and go about like a little peasant girl. I am sure it will do me a lot of good to be there. As I am no longer strong enough to be of any use to my own country, I might just as well live in one where my health will be better. Don’t you agree? Yes, I can see you do.”

  They both politely bowed their acquiescence, and Major Ronge thought to himself: ‘She is either mad or foxing. Probably the latter. She has dressed up to lend colour to this crazy nonsense, and is simply talking against time to give her pet Colonel a better chance to get away.’