The Sword of Fate

by Dennis Wheatley

  “You’re not a German, are you?” I asked the woman.

  Her broad, healthy face went almost scarlet, and for a moment I thought she was going to hit me, as she choked out: “Me! A German! Do I look like it? I’m a Greek, young man, and we’ll make these Nazis curse the day that they ever set foot in our country yet!”

  “Fine!” I grinned. “That’s all I wanted to know. You can see from my uniform that I’m a British officer. I’ve got to get into this place somehow, and I want you to help me. What have you got in that basket?”

  “Washing—for the German gentleman who lives in the little house.”

  “How many servants has he got?”

  “Only one, as far as I know—a manservant who cooks and does for him. They’ve been here close on two months.”

  “I’ve got to see the master, or rather a friend of his who has just gone in there,” I said. “Once I’m inside I’ll be able to manage for myself, but the trouble is going to be getting through that gate. Will you let me deliver your basket of washing?”

  She nodded. “If it’s to fix some of those Germans you can and welcome, but they’d never mistake you for a washerwoman’s man in that uniform you’re wearing, even though it could do with a good clean.”

  “I know.” I frowned. “I was just wondering how to get over that.” As I spoke my eye lit on a raincoat that Mondragora had left in his car. Reaching through the open back window, I yanked it out and put it on. It was of a greyish-green material, and although the lower part of my legs still remained a complete giveaway, when buttoned up it covered my uniform from below the knees to the chin.

  “I may be some time,” I said to the woman, “but I want you to look after my gas-mask, tin hat and cap while I’m inside. I’ll bring your basket back if I can, but if I have to leave in a hurry I’ll pay you for it.”

  When she had taken the things I picked up the big basket and, holding it in front of me chest-high, I propped it against the wooden gates while I rang the bell.

  There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel and the gateway was opened a crack.

  “Washing,” I announced, in as casual and throaty a voice as I could manage.

  A pair of blue eyes peered at me suspiciously from a fair-skinned shiny face, which was topped off by a typically German shaven skull.

  “Vare is der vooman who usually der vashing brings?” said the servant in Greek with a heavy German accent.

  “Sick,” I replied laconically. “I’m her nephew.”

  Apparently satisfied, he opened the gate to let me through, and closed it again carefully after me. A quick glance round showed me that the long garden was empty, then I followed him down a narrow semi-dark open-air passage, which lay between the high garden wall and the blank side-wall of the little house.

  He was about half-way along this passage when I called after him and he turned.

  “Here,” I said, thrusting out the basket. “Hold this a minute, will you? I’ve just trodden on a nail.”

  Grudgingly he took the basket from me, thereby rendering himself temporarily powerless to use his hands in his own defence. Immediately he was supporting the full weight of it I drew back my right fist and gave him a terrific swipe under the jaw.

  That is not a nice thing to do to an inoffensive person, but this fellow was a German and we should both have attempted to do much worse things to each other if we had happened to meet that evening a few miles outside Athens with half a dozen Mills bombs in our pockets and a tommy-gun apiece.

  His look of surprise as he saw the blow coming was almost comical, but he had no time to dodge it, and although he let go of the basket he was much too late to protect his face. My fist contacted good and hard with the side of his jaw, and he went flying backwards so that his head smacked against the old brick wall.

  My first blow hadn’t knocked him right out, so, as he swayed there dazed for a second, I had to hit him hard again. Immediately he’d slid to the ground I took his belt off and used it to strap his ankles together, then, pulling the cover off the basket of washing, I used a thin towel to tie his hands behind his back and stuffed a couple of handkerchiefs into his mouth so that when he came to he would not be able to cry out.

  The short passage was a cul-de-sac, which gave access only to the back door of the garden house. The door stood open and outside it there was a dustbin, a pig-tub and a pile of empty cases. Grabbing my victim by the collar, I dragged him behind them, where he would not be seen by anyone coming through the gate. Having drawn my gun and slipped off the safety-catch, I entered the back door. It gave on to a scullery and beyond was a small but well-furnished kitchen, where the manservant had evidently been at work cleaning the table silver.

  Tiptoeing into it I paused there, listening intently. On coming through the gate I had one quick glimpse of the house, and I felt sure that in a small one-storey affair of this kind there could not be more than three, or at the outside four, rooms, probably just kitchen, sitting-room, dining-room and bedroom.

  Almost at once I caught the murmur of voices. A door that evidently led from the service quarters to the rest of the house was shut, and I decided that the sound was coming through a service hatch in the kitchen’s inner wall.

  For a few moments I walked round the room, deliberately making a certain amount of noise, knowing that whoever was on the other side of the hatch would think that it was the manservant. I shifted some of the pots and pans, jingled the forks on the kitchen table, and turned on one of the taps in the scullery. I then shut it off, marched back into the kitchen, pulled open the service hatch and shut it again, but in doing so I had been careful not to close it quite completely; so that if I remained quiet myself I’d be able to hear much better what was going on in the next room.

  The first result of my manœuvre verified a guess I had made when I had heard that this was the back lodge of the German Archaeological Institute. This nice little hide-out belonged to the Baron Feldmar von Hentzen. I could now hear his arrogant guttural tones distinctly.

  Standing near the hatch, I continued to fiddle with the silver; not sufficiently loudly to disturb my enemies or to prevent myself catching the main gist of what they were talking about, but just enough to create the impression that the servant was there, busy at his work. The fellow had looked just the sort of human robot that von Hentzen would employ in a place where he had to keep a servant at such close quarters. No doubt he was completely satisfied that the man was both too scared of what might happen to him if he was caught listening to his master’s conversations and too stupid to make use of anything that he might overhear if he did.

  Mondragora and von Hentzen were talking about the war. It was evidently some time since they had met, but the Portuguese was taking advantage of his position as a neutral to go backwards and forwards through the war zone with the latest intelligence that the German agents could collect behind the Greek lines to the General Field Headquarters of the German Army, as it moved southward after the advancing troops. Baron Feldmar was grunting and chuckling over the fact that everything in the Balkan campaign had gone like clockwork and entirely according to plan; while Count Emilo, who was evidently very tired and had had a nerve-racking journey, said how thankful he was that when he went north again it would be his last trip and that next time he entered Athens it would be on the heels of the German Army.

  There was a gurgling noise as drinks were poured from a bottle, and after toasting the speedy conclusion of Hitler’s latest victory the German declared that nothing would prevent his being in at the death himself, and that he meant to go out of Athens at the last moment in order to enter it again with the High Command of the triumphant army in his uniform as a Colonel of the Prussian Guard.

  They talked for some time, then Mondragora said: “You’d better give me the packet now as I’m absolutely dead beat, and I must get along to the hotel so that I can put in a few hours sleep. I shall probably leave again at about three o’clock in the morning, and if anything fresh breaks b
efore that you can always telephone me.”

  Just as he was on the point of going, von Hentzen remarked, “By the by, have you still got that girl with you?”

  As I listened my pulses raced, for I felt sure that he must be referring to Daphnis. The reply came at once.

  “Yes. As I am a civilian no objection has been raised to my having her with me at Headquarters, and she gets through quite a lot of work when I’m not there. She picked up typing very quickly and no ordinary clerk could be trusted with the job, so she makes a most suitable little secretary.”

  “Mein Gott!” exclaimed the German.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Count.

  “Has she had any chance to communicate with anyone on the other side?” inquired the other anxiously.

  “No, how could she, since all normal communications have been cut for the best part of three weeks? But what makes you think that she might wish to do so?”

  The Baron’s deep voice came again: “Because I have reason to believe that she is trying to double-cross you. A report from one of our agents in Alexandria reached me only yesterday. He managed to obtain access to some of Cozelli’s files. Did you know that she was engaged to be married to that interfering young fool who now calls himself Julian Day?”

  “What’s that?” exclaimed Mondragora.

  “It is just as I say,” the German replied; “and if you remember I was vaguely uneasy about her bona fides when she turned up here in Athens early in March and offered to work for us; but you were so certain that she was all right that you vouched for her.”

  “Of course. I had good reason to. She did splendidly for us in Alex until Italy attacked Greece; and you know what these amateurs are—they will never work against their own country.”

  “How, then, do you account for her change of heart?”

  “She told me she was quite convinced that peace could have been restored after the Greek successes against the Italians had it not been for the British, who were manipulating the small nations quite unscrupulously for their own ends, and wanted to use Greece as a continental jumping-off ground against Hitler. Of course she saw, as we all did, that the British would be flung out neck and crop, but she felt so strongly about the utterly unnecessary and great additional suffering which would be inflicted on Greece, owing to British intervention, that she wanted to lend a hand in defeating them as swiftly as possible; so that although Greece might lose her freedom for a time, the actual devastation caused by active warfare in the country would be limited.”

  “Not bad,” the German grunted. “But unfortunately that’s not the case. You’ll recall that it was through Julian Day that your flat in Alex was raided. Why, I can’t quite understand, but Cozelli seems to think that Day is mixed up with us. Anyhow, he put him behind the bars for about three weeks and in the meantime got hold of the girl who, as my agent has quite definitely verified, is engaged to Day. The invitations were actually issued for the wedding. Apparently Cozelli, who’s a clever devil if ever there was one, made the girl believe that he had much more on Day than was actually the case. He had her taped, too, it seems, on some letters of hers that they found in your flat. Knowing of this old hook-up of hers with you, he was able to blackmail her into going to Greece to get in touch with you again and to double-cross you as the price of her lover’s freedom.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Mondragora spoke thoughtfully. “If this is true it explains quite a lot of things. She’s been damnably difficult these last few weeks. She suddenly made the discovery just about the beginning of this month that she was not suited to the work, and she’s pleaded with me several times since to let her go home to Egypt, via Turkey.”

  “In view if what we now know, the explanation is clear,” said von Hentzen. “She had evidently been with you long enough to get on to something good, and ever since has been trying to get away so that she can turn her information in to Cozelli. Thank God she did not succeed and has no way of communicating; but are you sure of that?”

  “Certain. She would not know how to use a wireless if I put her in a room with one. Her correspondence has been practically nil—a postcard to the old man to relieve his anxiety after she first ran away from him—and later two letters to her mother, both of which were carefully censored. In these last weeks she has been travelling with me as I moved with Marshal List’s Field Headquarters, so she could not send letters or get in touch with a neutral consulate however hard she tried.”

  “Then no harm has been done, but if she has been acting as your secretary she knows too much. You must deal with her, Emilo. We cannot afford to have love-sick young women who are attempting to betray us in our midst, and you can take it that my information is absolutely accurate.”

  “Very well,” Mondragora agreed, with a tired sigh. “I’ll see to it the moment that I get back, but I shall drop asleep where I sit if I don’t get some sleep soon.”

  There came the sound of footsteps and a door opening. Von Hentzen called out: “Gute Nacht!” and the Count called back: “Auf Wiedersehen!” Then von Hentzen’s heavy tramp returned to the room.

  I caught a glimpse of Mondragora as he passed the kitchen window, and my first impulse was to run after him with the idea of waylaying him and settling my account with him there and then; but I had hardly moved away from the hatch before I realised that now, if ever in my life, everything depended upon my keeping a cool head, and that to murder Mondragora in the streets of Athens would be the very worst way to go to work. The washerwoman was outside and I did not think she would stand for murder. Within a few moments of his having driven off in his car he would either have outdistanced me or else be back in a crowded thoroughfare where, if I attempted to assassinate him, I should immediately be seized by the crowd; and that would not save my adorable Daphnis.

  Count Emilo had stated clearly that he was going to bed, and would not set off up to the Front again until round about three o’clock in the morning, so he would be out of the game for the best part of twelve hours. It was my job to utilise every second of that precious lead. My intense relief at learning that Daphnis was still alive and undetected in her role of British secret agent, and my pride in her cleverness at having picked up work so entirely strange to her quickly enough to get taken on as Mondragora’s secretary, was offset by the awful knowledge that she had now been found out. My job was to discover the whereabouts of German Field Headquarters, then by hook or by crook get there before Mondragora, as, now that von Hentzen had informed him of her intended treachery, her life would not be worth a moment’s purchase once the Portuguese rejoined her.

  The only way in which I could get the name of the town or village in which Marshal List and his staff were at present was from either Mondragora or von Hentzen. Neither would tell me willingly, and even if I could catch up with the Portuguese I saw little chance of being able to force him to give away such information in the street, whereas I felt that if I played my cards properly in this quiet little box of a house I might get the German entirely at my mercy.

  There was not a moment to lose, as now that Mondragora had gone at any time von Hentzen might come into the kitchen to give his servant some order. Getting out my gun again I walked quietly over to the door and eased it open. It gave on to a short passage, and I crept silently along it until I reached the sitting-room. Luck was with me as the door was standing ajar, and, peering in with my gun held ready before me, I saw the Baron was sitting working at a desk in the window with his back turned towards me. Covering him with the gun, I opened the door another few inches and said sharply:

  “I’ve got you covered! Drop your hands beside you or I’ll blow your head in.”

  Von Hentzen was no coward. If we had been face to face I little doubt that in that small room he would have chanced being shot and attempted to rush me; but he must have known that since he would have had to jump up and fling the chair back before he could even turn round to face me, he would have no chance at all of getting to grips before I co
uld shoot him.

  “In case you don’t recognise my voice, I’m Julian Day,” I went on; “so you know that I’m not bluffing when I say that I’ll make you dead as mutton if you attempt to lift a finger.”

  From the moment I had first spoken he had gone stiff and rigid in his chair. Now with a rumbling curse he slowly let his hands fall beside him.

  I knew that my own life would hang in the balance for the next few moments. It is no easy matter to keep a strong man covered and tie him up at the same time. If I made a single slip the great hulking brute would turn the tables in a second, and I knew that I should be as good as dead if I once allowed him to get his hands on me.

  Swiftly I looked round for the means of trussing him and my eye fell upon a standard lamp which had a long electric flex attached to it. Keeping a wary eye upon the German, I jerked the plug out of the socket and made a running noose. As his back was towards me he could not see that, while making the knot, I had at times to point the gun a little away from him; but while I was doing it I kept on talking to him so as to occupy his mind.

  “That’s right,” I purred. “I’m so glad to see that you’re prepared to be sensible. It’s just as well for you that you didn’t take a chance on looking round, otherwise one glimpse of me would be the last thing that you would ever have seen on earth. As you probably know, it would be a great pleasure to me to kill you where you sit, and I certainly hope to kill you some time. In fact I shall be terribly distressed if I hear that you have been killed by a stray British bullet or bomb if you go up to the Front for the triumphant entry into Athens, as you told Mondragora that you meant to just now; but unfortunately I must deny myself the pleasure of killing you this evening. The Fates ordain that I can do no more than have a little talk with you. However, as you may be angry at what I have to say, I think it would be wisest if I tie you up first. Then there won’t be any risk of your being tempted to act rashly and compelling me to kill you prematurely after all. Remain quite still, please, while I throw this wire over your head. You can take my word for it that I have no intention of strangling you.”