Return to Vienna

by Nancy Buckingham

  He was standing squarely in the doorway, almost blocking it. I peered past him, trying to make out what was happening. It was still only just getting light, but dimly I could see, twenty feet above us, a man’s figure move out silently from behind a tree.

  Leopold was very agile for someone of his age. He jumped and scrambled his way down to the level shelf on which the hut stood. As he came toward us I could see that he was very tired, but he spoke with all his usual suavity.

  “It was so foolish, Frau Varley, to imagine you could escape us. So much trouble, and all for nothing!”

  Steve said evenly, “I keep telling you, Hellweg, we haven’t got the scrolls.”

  “We shall see!” Leopold motioned with his gun. “You had better step outside, both of you, where Herr Kolbinger can watch you. I shall search the hut.”

  “You won’t find anything,” said Steve. He muttered quickly to me: “Keep out of sight, darling.” Then, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, he stepped toward Leopold.

  It was all so swift, I hardly saw what happened. In a single movement, it seemed, Steve had twisted Leopold Hellweg around, locking his right arm behind his back. He applied still more pressure, until Leopold cried out in pain and the gun dropped to the ground.

  Immediately my fear switched to what Otto Kolbinger would do. I was terrified that he might be marksman enough to shoot at Steve without risk of hitting Leopold. The gunshot, when it came, sent me rushing blindly out to Steve.

  But he and Leopold were both still on their feet, motionless, staring up into the trees. And in the sudden silence I heard a curiously intimate sound. A long breathy sigh, no more than that.

  A voice called down to us, a cheerful voice with a laugh in it. “Hello there! This seems an appropriate moment to enter the scene.”

  I knew at once who it was, even before he showed himself, a tall slim figure with a gun in his hand.

  “Who the devil... ?” cursed Steve.

  “It’s Richard Wilson.”

  There was another short silence, and I hung suspended in uncertainty. What did it mean, Richard being here? Could he possibly be a friend, after all? Had he come to help us? But the gun, covering us all, seemed to be my answer!

  He said, in a harsher voice, “Herr Hellweg, your colleague is dead. And I intend to kill you also.” In English he added, “I suggest, Mr. Elliott, that you let him go.”

  Steve didn’t move. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Wilson. Jessica knows me.”

  “So I gather. But what’s your game? Who are you working for?”

  “I am an anti-Nazi, Mr. Elliott. I hope that goes for you, too.”

  “I suppose that means you’re a Communist?”

  In reply, a bullet smacked into the wood of the hut, very near me. Instantly Steve spun around to see if I was hurt, relaxing the armlock on Leopold, who took his chance and bent to snatch up his gun. There was yet another shot, and with a scream Leopold fell to the ground. His body jerked convulsively, but as Steve crouched over him, he lay still.

  Getting to his feet again, Steve moved back so as to put himself between Richard’s gun and me. His hand reached out behind him to find mine.

  “What is it you want, Wilson?”

  From above us Richard’s voice resumed its chatty tone. “Sorry about that little diversionary trick, but I had to dispose of Hellweg first. And now I’ll be glad if you’ll hand over those Kutani Scrolls.”

  “We haven’t got them,” said Steve promptly. “That’s what I was trying to explain to Hellweg.”

  “Oh, Steve, let him have the wretched things,” I whispered, terrified. “What does it matter?”

  “It would be suicide—the man’s utterly ruthless! But like I said about Hellweg, as long as he hasn’t got the scrolls and thinks we know where they are, we stay alive.”

  Richard’s voice called down, “Come on, now, you’ve had your little chat, and I hope you’ve decided to be sensible. I’m going to ask my friend to show himself so you can see you haven’t the smallest chance of escaping me.”

  Right beside Richard another figure appeared, seeming to rise from the ground. There was something slightly familiar about him, and I wondered if he might be the same man who’d driven me in a taxi to meet Richard at the Cafe Mirabel.

  Steve started talking suddenly, and in a way that amazed me. “Okay, Wilson, you win! But the scrolls aren’t here. We left them where we found them, over by the lake. I reckoned it was safer than carrying them around.”

  There was a short wait while Richard and his accomplice conferred. Then Richard announced, “You will take us to the spot. Elliott, you’ll go in front with my friend, while Jessica and I follow behind. If you try anything stupid, then Jessica will suffer for it. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” said Steve in a surly voice.

  “Very well, then. You two climb up here first, and we’ll all get moving.”

  Steve whispered to me, “We’ve got to string them along, darling. It’s our only hope. Just play it cool and try to take your cue from me.”

  And so, as captives, Steve and I came away from the derelict hut where we had spent the night. We left there, still hidden in the roof, the metal tube containing the scrolls. We left there, too, the bodies of Leopold Hellweg and Otto Kolbinger.

  I had known both men personally and could not feel entirely unmoved by their deaths—even though they had been prepared to kill Steve and me. I thought about their wives, wondering how they would take the news. A man being a criminal didn’t stop a woman from loving him. I knew the truth of that! For Ilse Hellweg I had little sympathy to spare—she was hard and selfish and probably quite insensitive. But I felt sure that Gretl had loved Otto very much, in her own way.

  It was a long and tiring trek. Steve, walking ten yards ahead with the man whose name turned out to be Voltek, looked back over his shoulder every minute or so. It was my only comfort.

  Richard Wilson kept up a cheerful conversation, just as if we were two good friends.

  “You did an excellent job for us, Jessica. The main object of the exercise was to put us on the track of Hellweg and his fascist mob. They’d set up quite an organization to recover looted treasure the Nazis hid away during the war. But I daresay by now you’ve discovered for yourself what it’s all been about.”

  “I’m just beginning to understand,” I said grimly.

  “Those scrolls are quite priceless, you know. Even on the underground market, sold to some crazy plutocrat collector to gloat over in private, they’d probably fetch upwards of a couple of million pounds. However, it wasn’t so much getting hold of the scrolls ourselves that interested us—we wanted to prevent such valuable items getting into the wrong hands and being sold for funds to further other political ambitions. We couldn’t allow that, now, could we?”

  “So you ruthlessly decided to make use of me, not minding what danger I might run into....”

  “It’s your husband you must blame. He shouldn’t have got mixed up with that mob in the first place.”

  I went on bitterly, “You cared nothing at all for my feelings when you brought me that letter. To actually forge my husband’s handwriting.”

  Richard chuckled unashamedly. “Fine piece of work, wasn’t it? Of course, we’ve got some very good men for that sort of thing. They can fool even the experts.”

  We trudged on for a while without speaking. I felt I’d heard all I could take. But a question kept niggling, and in the end I had to know the answer.

  “How was it you ever came to know Max?”

  Again Richard chuckled. “I didn’t know him. In fact, I’d never even heard of him. But it was easy enough to dig out a few convincing background details. It was pure chance that I got on to him at all. We’d picked up a man in Hungary for some quite petty offense, and hoping to curry favor, he volunteered information about a scheme for smuggling out wartime loot. Not that he could tell us much, just that there was a man called Varley who came over on business trips and wo
rked for some mysterious organization with headquarters in Vienna. By the time we’d got on Max Varley’s trail, though, he had been killed in a road accident.”

  “Accident?” I exclaimed. “You told me it was ...”

  “I told you all sorts of things, Jessica, to make sure you’d play along the way we wanted.”

  I said nothing. I had nothing to say.

  We were all very tired after a night spent on the mountainside, and several times Richard halted us for a rest. But Steve and I were made to sit well apart, so that we could do no more than exchange glances.

  I kept wondering what Steve was planning to do when we got to the lake. What could he do against two ruthless men, both armed?

  The day had started misty and gray, but in the last half-hour the sun had broken through the clouds. The little lake sparkled in the soft autumn sunlight, looking incredibly beautiful.

  When we had all climbed down to the beach, Richard said: “Well, Elliott, what about it?”

  “The scrolls are hidden in that cave over there,” said Steve. He pointed to the first cave we had tried in our search.

  “I see! You’d better go and fetch them, then, hadn’t you?”

  Steve didn’t budge. “Not without Jessica. I’m not leaving her alone with you two.”

  Richard laughed curtly. “Do you imagine we’re a couple of rapists?”

  “I said, I’m not leaving her! You can do what you damn well like about it.”

  “Oh, very well. What does it matter?”

  Steve said, “And I’ll need a light. It’s dark in there.”

  Our own flashlight was still in the haversack back at the hut, but fortunately Richard had one. He handed it over.

  “Right,” said Steve. “Come on, Jessica.”

  He took my hand and gave it a squeeze that was meant to be cheerfully reassuring. But though it was wonderful to feel his touch again, I couldn’t find anything to be cheerful about. Richard and Voltek were following close behind, their guns covering us, and when we reached the cave, they positioned themselves on either side of the entrance. To me, the outlook couldn’t have been blacker. There seemed to be no hope for us at all.

  Using the flashlight, Steve led me into the cave as far as we could go, perhaps forty or fifty feet. Then suddenly he switched off the light. Owing to the way the cave curved slightly, we were now out of sight of the entrance, and it was utterly dark.

  “Why did you do that?” I said, clinging to his arm.

  Steve held me to him and whispered into my ear, “They don’t know anything about the layout of this cave. If we stay put for long enough, they’ll imagine we must have found another exit. They’ll come in after us, and then . . .”

  “But how will you ... ?”

  “Leave that to me!”

  So we crouched down at the far end of that dank-smelling cave, keeping utterly quiet. Slowly, as our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, we could see a glimmer of light reflected from the wet limestone walls.

  Three or four minutes crept by before Richard called out, “Elliott! What’s keeping you?”

  Silence. Then we heard the voices of the two men talking things over. They must have been standing just inside the cave mouth, and seemed to be getting pretty annoyed. Richard called again, “Don’t play the fool with me, Elliott. Come on out!”

  Silence.

  The voices started muttering again. It sounded as if Voltek was blaming Richard for letting us both come in together. Then Richard shouted angrily, “If you’re not out of there in thirty seconds, I’m coming in to get you. I’m warning you, Elliott, you’ll regret that!”

  In the stillness of the cave, even our breathing sounded loud and rasping. Surely they could hear it out there? I was trembling all over with tension and fear. Steve’s fingers moved up to my cheek and stroked it gently.

  Richard made a lot of noise about coming into the cave, shuffling his feet and keeping up a barrage of threats about what he’d do to us when he found us. It was almost as if he needed to screw up his courage. He had no light to help him, so the cave must have seemed as black as pitch.

  We couldn’t see him at all until he reached the point where the cave changed direction, and then we saw him quite clearly, outlined against the light. He stood waving the gun uncertainly.

  “Are you there, Elliott?”

  Very hesitantly, fumbling with his free hand, Richard came on another few steps, until he was barely six feet from us. Then he gave a sudden yelp of pain as his head struck a low point of the cave roof. At that instant Steve launched himself.

  I saw it all in shadowy silhouette. Steve went straight for the gun with his left hand while his right arm locked around Richard’s neck, forcing back his chin. The struggle was over very quickly. Steve seemed to wrench the gun away, and I saw him raise it, heard a terrible thud of hard metal on bone. Richard crumpled, collapsing in a limp heap as Steve let his weight slide to the ground.

  “That should keep him quiet for a while,” Steve muttered. “But come here and watch him, will you, just to be on the safe side.”

  I went over at once, but reluctantly, and crouched beside Richard’s slumped body. A moment later I felt Steve putting something into my hand, and realized it was a heavy chunk of rock.

  “If he shows any sign of waking up, hit him with that. And I mean hit him, darling—this is not the moment to go all feminine on me. Now for friend Voltek.”

  I felt sick with terror, both for Steve and for myself. I wondered if I’d be capable of striking a man with a lump of rock. I steeled myself. Steve was relying on me. I’d have to do it.

  Still crouched down, Steve moved forward to where he could see the cave entrance, peering cautiously. I could hear Voltek making a lot of noise outside, shouting in some language quite unknown to me. He sounded scared, which wasn’t surprising, since he must have heard the noise of the fight and our voices.

  Steve was lying prone on the ground, the gun lifted. He was taking aim very carefully, and I guessed he wanted to be sure of finishing Voltek off with one shot, in case he didn’t get a second chance. I hated the thought of Steve having to shoot the man, but I knew there was no other way out for us.

  The explosion, within the confined space of the cave, was shattering. The acrid smell of the explosive caught my throat. I heard a single scream from outside, and then Steve jumped to his feet and went running toward the entrance.

  “Okay, darling, everything under control,” he called back to me. At the same moment Voltek began what was obviously a string of violent curses.

  So he wasn’t dead, or even badly injured! Odd that I should feel such tremendous relief about that.

  Steve called again, “Is Wilson still out cold?”

  “Yes, he hasn’t moved at all.”

  “Right, then come out and give me a hand with this character. He needs bandaging.”

  Voltek was sitting on the ground just inside the cave. He looked very white and shaken, and was clutching the upper part of his right arm.

  “It’s only a graze, darling. Can you deal with it?” Steve pushed the gun forward at Voltek menacingly and said in German, “Now, don’t you try anything Stupid.”

  There were more curses, but he was glad enough to let me help him. I suppose he was thankful that Steve didn’t intend to kill him. I eased off his fleece-lined jacket, and tore away the sleeve of his shirt. Clean lake water was right there for washing the wound, and then I bandaged it as best I could with the other shirt sleeve. By the time I started putting the jacket on him again, a little color was coming back to his face.

  I was just finished when Richard came staggering out of the cave, looking very dazed. Steve ordered him to sit down and keep quiet. We allowed them fifteen minutes’ rest, and then began the march back to the Gasthaus. There seemed to be no fight left in either of them, but Steve was giving them no chances. He made them walk ahead of us, well apart, and kept them covered all the time.

  We were almost halfway when we met the search par
ty coming toward us out of the trees. A group of about twenty men, civilians and uniformed police.

  And with them was a plump figure we recognized. It was Bruno Hutyens.

  Chapter 21

  I was promptly ordered straight back to the Gasthaus, and felt too weary to argue about it. I went along with the three policemen who took Richard and Voltek in charge. Steve, tired though he must have been, led the rest of the search party over to the mountain hut to recover the scrolls and bring in the bodies of Leopold and Otto.

  It was impossible for me to rest while Steve was out there in the mountains. I hung around talking to Frau Krikl. The poor woman was desolate over what had happened. She blamed herself because the forester who lived down the track had given us away.

  “I should have warned him to say nothing. I should have warned everyone around here.”

  Apparently some of Leopold’s accomplices, making a second sweep of the area, had talked to the man in a tavern down in the village. Innocently, he’d mentioned seeing a car heading for the Gasthaus on the night of such bad weather.

  “When you came not back last night, I was out of my mind,” Frau Krikl said. “This morning, just when my husband had formed a search party, the Herr Professor arrived. He summoned the police at once.”

  I was now able to tell her something of the truth, and I felt better for it. I even told her that Steve was not my brother.

  “Ja,” she said softly. “That I knew.”

  “But when . . . ?”

  She avoided a direct answer. “Brothers do not look at their sisters in such a way.”

  Between us we prepared a meal for when the men got back. A huge pan of thick, meaty, nourishing soup, and a batch of bread. It was nearly dark when we heard them, and Frau Krikl and I went to the door. Steve broke away from the group and came over to me. He looked desperately tired, but he was smiling.

  “Are you all right, Steve?”

  “Just about!”

  The men crowded into the little barroom, stamping their feet and talking loudly. I saw Bruno was carrying the metal tube that held the precious Kutani Scrolls.