The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  Now, however, the whole country was shrouded in a pall of darkness, with only a tiny light showing here and there and giving little indication as to whether it shone from an isolated cottage or from a house in a thickly-populated area. There were a few moving lights, too; the dimmed headlamps of cars; but very soon these faded and the land beneath became indistinguishable from the sky above save for the darker tone of its background. It was impossible to tell, either from the stars above or from the few, scattered lights below, what part of the country lay beneath their ever-climbing wings.

  As the plane gained height Gregory’s ears began to pop, and knowing the drill he swallowed hard several times to ease the pressure. The altimeter showed 5,000 feet. A few minutes later they passed into cloud, but the needle moved steadily on, showing 7,000, 8,000, 10,000 as the plane climbed on into the empty heavens.

  ‘We’re over the coast now,’ said Charlton, and Gregory saw that they had reached 15,000.

  The plane droned on. 18,000; 20,000. Charlton had already turned on the oxygen so that breathing was still quite easy, but it had become very cold and Gregory was glad of his heavy great-coat. The North Sea now lay far below them, with its lightless ships seeking to avoid the menace of German submarines, or waiting for daylight and a chance to hunt them out. 25,000; 30,000. A heavy frost had rimed the windows of the cabin.

  Charlton glanced at his watch and checked his intruments. ‘We’re over Belgium now,’ he murmured. But the plane was still climbing. 35,000; 40,000. In spite of the central heating, his coat and the rug, Gregory shivered. His hands were half-numbed by the cold and he envied Charlton his thick gloves.

  Climbing no longer, but held steadily by Charlton at 40,000 the plane leaped ahead. Time seemed to hang interminably although Gregory could see by the air-speed indicator that they were now doing 230 miles per hour. Suddenly Charlton cut off the engine. The silence that followed was uncanny, and Gregory looked up quickly.

  ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘No.’ The pilot shook his head. ‘We passed the German frontier some minutes back, and now we’re going to come down. From this height I can volplane for miles without having to use the engine.’

  ‘I get you. Their sound-detectors won’t be able to pick us up then. But how about your getting back? You’ll have to use your engine to take off and climb again.’

  Charlton answered directly. ‘Were you in the last war?’

  ‘Yes: the latter part of it.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that different makes of engines have different notes. This plane is fitted with a German engine; we have a few of them just for such purposes as this. If they pick me up when I’m climbing, they’ll think it’s one of their own planes.’

  ‘It’s a wonder that our own coast batteries didn’t have a slap at us, then, when we went over them at 15,000.’

  ‘They were warned. The listening-posts can distinguish a single plane from a flight, and the batteries in the area we had to cross were told to let us through.’

  ‘I see. But as this is a German engine, why don’t you use it to come down? That would make for a safer landing, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It would. But it’s important that we should land in silence, otherwise some busybody might come running across the fields to find out why one of their planes was landing where there was no aerodrome. Once I’ve taken off again it won’t matter quite so much even if they do hear me.’

  The plane was gradually losing height as they talked, and Gregory’s ears began to pop again. After some minutes they passed out of the clouds and scattered lights became dimly visible below them, being more numerous to their right front.

  ‘Their black-out is not as good as ours,’ Gregory remarked. ‘That’s a town over there.’

  ‘It’s Cologne; but their black-out is pretty good. They’ve got a more difficult problem than we have, because Cologne is much harder to hide than London. There’s almost deserted country surrounding it; just farm lands with villages dotted here and there; whereas round London the suburbs spread out for twenty-five miles, merging gradually into the great, sprawling city. A night flier can easily locate it as a whole, but unless he can get low enough to pick up the Thames it’s very difficult for him to discover what part of it he’s over.’

  The plane was dropping rapidly now. The scattered lights grew brighter. When they had got down to 3,000 feet Charlton began to circle, going round and round for some minutes until at last he seemed satisfied and straightened out again. Away to the right the lights of Cologne seemed to be drawing together and receding, whereas the few, scattered twinklings in the darkness immediately below were spreading out yet rising rapidly to meet them. As he peered forward Gregory saw that one of these was blue, and that Charlton was heading for it. A moment later, most of the more distant lights had disappeared and the blue light could be seen to shine from a square window.

  ‘The chap in that house is running a pretty big risk by showing you the way in,’ Gregory exclaimed.

  ‘Such risks have to be taken, but as he’s only a poor farmer he might get away with the excuse that he couldn’t afford a thicker blind—the first time, anyhow. Besides, that room is only lit for a quarter of an hour at a time, and then only when he’s had the tip that I’m coming over.’

  No other lights were now visible, and it seemed that they were about to crash head-on through the blue-curtained window when the plane suddenly curved away from it into the wind, bumped gently, and after running for a hundred yards came to a standstill.

  As Gregory clambered out Charlton said: ‘Well, that’s that. You see that star behind you, low on the horizon? Head for it. The going won’t be too good as part of it is over ploughed fields, but in about two miles you’ll strike the Gladbach-Cologne road. Turn left along it, and a six-mile tramp will bring you to Cologne. All the very best of luck on your venture.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Gregory shook hands. ‘I couldn’t have had a better man to help me over the first fence. Good luck yourself, and a safe return!’

  As he slammed the door of the cabin, and stepped back, Charlton switched on the engine. It roared for a moment; then Charlton turned the plane and taxied back across the rough grass until it was no longer visible in the faint starlight. Next moment Gregory saw the plane come rushing toward him again and the sudden gust of its passing hit him in the face as it took the air once more, climbing towards the stars on its way back to England.

  As he glanced round he saw that the light in the blue-curtained window had been extinguished. The surrounding fields were dark, chill and unfriendly. Not a crack of light showed in any direction. His mission had begun in real earnest now. He was a lone wolf without food or refuge and only his wits could save him from being torn to pieces by the ferocious enemy pack now that he was hunting in their territory.

  5

  A Lone Wolf Enters the Shadows

  Turning towards the star that Charlton had pointed out, Gregory set off across the field. His boots were a little large, and though this was better than their being too tight, as he had an eight-mile walk ahead of him, he gave himself a mental rap over the knuckles for having omitted to mention the right size to Sir Pellinore. Evidently the department responsible for providing the General’s uniform had made a pretty accurate guess by judging from his height, but carelessness upon just such small points might well cost him his life during the days or weeks that lay ahead of him now that he was in enemy country.

  When he had covered about 400 yards he encountered a fence, on the far side of which he found cultivated land. The crops had been gathered and a rough stubble rustled against his boots as he strode out across the uneven ground, thanking his stars that the weather had been good during the first week of the war and that the night was fine, for if his boots had been clogged with mud the going would have proved infinitely more tiring and difficult.

  After a quarter of a mile the field ended and he struck grass again, but he had to cross several more stubble-fields before he reached a deep ditch and, s
crambling across it, found himself on the open road. Turning left, he headed for Cologne.

  The country was quite flat and utterly silent. The few houses that he passed showed blank, black windows and their inmates were clearly taking what sleep they could before facing the cheerless prospect of their second war-time Monday morning.

  He saw no signs of military activity, but he had not expected to do so as he was nearly forty miles from the Belgian frontier and Germany was still at peace with Belgium. The nearest war zone was far away to the south of Luxembourg, well over a hundred miles distant. The only troops he was likely to encounter in this neighbourhood were anti-aircraft batteries stationed here for the defence of Cologne and the great industrial area further north, where the plants at Düsseldorf, Crefeld and Essen would be turning out munitions day and night. A faint reddening of the sky to northward indicated the innumerable blast-furnaces of Düsseldorf, which could not be entirely screened even in a black-out.

  Occasionally a lorry rumbled past or a car with dimmed headlights crawled towards him in the darkness. At one point he encountered a small party of revellers who were singing drunkenly, at another an old woman who was pushing a handcart. But there was little traffic, and each time anything approached he stepped off the road to take cover in the shadows.

  The six-mile tramp along the road was a dreary business, but at last the scattered houses merged into disconnected rows and Gregory knew that he was entering the suburbs of Cologne.

  Glancing at the luminous dial of his wrist-watch, he saw that it was just on 5.30. This meant that there was nearly another hour to go until sunrise, but the sky was already paling faintly in the east. He had not hurried on his way from the landing-ground because it would have been dangerous for him to be seen, in the conspicuous uniform of a General, drifting aimlessly about the streets of the city before it was astir. Moreover, as an old soldier, Gregory had long since learned to conserve his strength and he never hurried over anything unless he had excellent reasons for doing so.

  Where a fence railed off an open field between two blocks of houses he halted and sat down on the stile that gave entrance to it. Plucking a tuft of grass he spent some moments dusting his boots, as he knew that it would be a fatal give-away for a German General to be seen about the streets in boots which were not meticulously clean. Then he took out his case and lit a cigarette.

  That was another little slip, he thought, as he drew the fragrant smoke of the Sullivan down into his lungs. Sullivans are not to be obtained in Germany, and if an occasion should arise which necessitated his offering his case this fact might well betray him. He would have to get some of those filthy German stinkers as soon as possible.

  Fortunately the case was of plain, engine-turned gold without monogram or initials, so he was able to retain it, but with a reluctant sigh he took out the remaining Sullivans and, tearing them into pieces, scattered the tobacco and paper in the long grass behind him.

  At a quarter to six a door banged in a nearby house and a shrill voice called out something in German. That brought home to him as nothing had yet done that he really was in Germany. Shortly afterwards a light cart clattered by and Gregory stood up. It would not do for a General to be seen sitting dreaming at the roadside. German Generals were busy, practical people and not given to doing that sort of thing. The uniform would probably have big advantages later, but it had its drawbacks as well.

  Stubbing out his cigarette he started off again towards the centre of the town and was soon walking on pavement. It was lighter now and there were quite a number of people in the streets. He came to tramlines, and passed a little group of workers waiting at the terminus for a tram to take them into the city. A solitary, grey-clad soldier was among them; steel-helmeted, a gas-mask slung round his shoulders. He drew himself up stiffly and saluted. With a little start Gregory acknowledged the salute and walked on.

  The fact that he was wearing a cap instead of a steel helmet did not matter. Actually, it was probably an advantage; for except when actually on parade officers would certainly be permitted such licence behind the war zones, but he ought to have had a gas-mask, Evidently the department which had equipped him had not had one of the latest German pattern, and a British gas mask would have given him away. He made up his mind to rectify the omission as soon as possible.

  The trams were running by now, but he noticed that their clanging, high-pitched bells were silent, doubtless on account of some regulation imposed by the German equivalent of A.R.P.

  He had decided that he would make for the main railway-station, go in by one entrance and come out by another, and then hail a taxi as though he had just arrived by train, in order to reach an hotel where he could breakfast in a manner befitting his rank. But that little plan proved quite abortive.

  The Hauptbahnhof yard was full of cars; many were grey ones belonging to Army units and the rest all had some form or other of label posted on their windscreens, reading ‘Supply Service’, ‘A.R.P.’, ‘Road Control’, ‘Police’, and so on. The station buzzed with activity; people, most of whom were in uniform, came and went incessantly, but there was not a single taxi to be seen. Evidently the Germans must have taken them off the streets in order to conserve their petrol supply.

  Somewhat cheered by seeing many other officers also walking, Gregory entered the stream of pedestrians moving towards the centre of the town and made his way to the Dom Hotel, which had been used by the British as their Headquarters during their occupation of Cologne twenty years before. A sentry outside it presented arms and Gregory acknowledged the salute, casually now, having become quite used to taking salutes during his walk from the station, but he was informed that the hotel had been taken over by the Administration and was directed to the Excelsior.

  On arriving there he went straight through to the gentlemen’s cloakroom, picked up the first gas-mask that he saw on a peg and, slinging it round his shoulders, walked out again. Crossing the street, he went round the corner, entered the Edenhof and going into the restaurant proceeded to order breakfast.

  If he had had to content himself with the menu which was presented to him he would have fared badly, as rationing was already in force in Germany, but he knew that money would talk there as well as anywhere else in Europe, and in this little matter his rank would protect him from any charge of contravening the laws which some over-zealous witness might bring against him.

  Looking the head waiter straight in the eye, he handed him back the menu, which listed only cereals, gave him a two-mark piece and gruffly demanded Eier mit Schinken.

  ‘Jawohl, Herr General,’ replied the waiter swiftly, and turning to one of his minions passed on the order.

  While he ate his ham and eggs and drank some passable imitation coffee he considered his next move. If he had entered the country dressed as a private, as Sir Pellinore had suggested, he would have carried a knapsack in which he could have brought a change of linen and other oddments that he might require; but Generals do not carry knapsacks, neither do they carry suitcases, so he had had to content himself with slipping his razor, toothbrush and comb into one of his pockets.

  It was clear, however, that he must have luggage if he were to stay in the country for any length of time. He could not just walk into hotels minus even an attaché-case and spend the night without arousing suspicion in the minds of chambermaids and managers. It had been his intention to take a taxi round the town after he had breakfasted and to purchase his small requirements, but this was now out of the question.

  Having paid his bill and had the ration-card with which the department had provided him punched, he went out to the reception desk and announced to the weedy looking clerk who stood behind it: ‘I am General von Lettow. My servant did not arrive at the station in Hanover last night in time to meet me with my suitcase, so I had to leave without it. I am now going out to buy a few things and shall have them sent here. See to it that the porter has them all together in his office when I return!’

  The little clerk cl
icked his heels and bowed. ‘At your service, Excellency.’

  Turning away with a curt nod, Gregory went out to do his shopping. After an hour he had bought at various places a good-sized suitcase, pyjamas, a dressing-gown, two changes of underclothes, bedroom slippers, another pair of boots that fitted him better, and toilet things. He almost gave himself away at the chemist’s by inquiring for hair-oil, but remembered just in time that his head was now bald. He tried to get a torch, but without success, as every torch in Cologne had either been commandeered days before for military purposes or snapped up by civilians as part of their A.R.P. outfits.

  Having instructed the various shopkeepers that his purchases should be sent at once by hand to the Edenhof, he decided to go and have a drink at the big café on the Dom Platz in order to give them reasonable time to make the deliveries, and seated there at a small, marble-topped table with a big mug of the dark Munich Löwenbräu in front of him he studied the surrounding scene with interest.

  Workmen, high on a scaffolding, were busily removing the stained glass of the rose-window from the great, twin-towered cathedral opposite, and piles of neatly-stacked sandbags now-protected the fine stone-carvings on the arches of its doors.

  The café was one of those set aside for the use of officers, but a few civilians were sitting about and taking their morning beer. An elderly, grey-bearded man was seated at the next table and Gregory thought that he would try out his German on him, though he had few qualms about it. There are many more dialects and local accents in Germany than there are in England, so that even if his German were not absolutely perfect any peculiarity of inflection would be noticed by his hearer only in the same way that a Londoner might detect a slight touch of the North Country or Cornwall in the speech of an educated Englishman brought up in the provinces.