The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘The difficulties are immense, and the Gestapo is everywhere yet it must be done, and it lies with people of influence like you and myself, who have the best interests of the Fatherland at heart, to do it.’

  ‘Speaking for my own associates, we are ready and willing to risk our necks whenever the time is ripe to move against these Nazi blackguards, but we would be powerless without a lead from the Army.’

  ‘You shall have it,’ Gregory assured him. ‘I cannot disclose the names of my superiors, but I am acting for some of the most important men among our Army leaders, and my purpose in making this tour of the Rhineland is to find out how well prepared the movement is down here, and in particular, how far we may rely upon the masses,’

  ‘I can speak for this section of the Moselle valley only. Here, with the exception of a handful of young hotheads, everyone regards the war as a major calamity. Among the women this is particularly the case, and even those who previously had faith in Hitler are now of the opinion that he has betrayed them. They feel that nothing can justify his having over-reached himself and plunged us into war with the great Democracies. Have you seen Wachmuller yet?’

  Gregory shook his head and was careful not to show his elation at having so soon discovered the name of a man who was obviously another link in the chain of conspirators.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I hope to do so within the course of the next few days.’

  ‘He can give you much more information than I can,’ Rheinhardt went on, ‘for being so noted a preacher he is in a position to tour the whole Rhineland without becoming suspect. He is in constant touch with our friends in all the important cities.’

  ‘So Wachmuller is a clergyman,’ thought Gregory, as he asked, fishing carefully, ‘D’you happen to know if he’s at home at the present time?’

  ‘No.’ Rheinhardt shook his head; ‘but when you get back to Coblenz you can easily ring up his house at Ems and find out.’

  ‘I’ll do so tonight, if I have time,’ said Gregory casually.

  They talked for a little of the war in Poland and the threat to the Siegfried Line in the West, while they ate some roast veal and small, sweet grapes from the new crop, after which Gregory stood up to take his departure.

  Before leaving the terrace they shook hands, and wished each other well in the dangerous game that they were playing for the salvation of their nation. Rheinhardt then telephoned to the Hotel Clausfiest, a few hundred yards further along the river bank, for Fräulein Schultz to bring the General’s car. Having said in Klein’s hearing that he would communicate in due course about the wines to be requisitioned, Gregory climbed into the car beside the girl and they set off to return along the quiet Moselle valley to Coblenz.

  As they were driving out of Traben she asked him if he had heard the guns. He had not noticed them, so she pulled the car up for a moment, and as they listened he could hear a very faint, erratic rumble which showed that a bombardment was in progress some thirty or forty miles away, to the south of Trier.

  They made the return journey without incident, and arrived back in Coblenz just as dusk was falling. Gregory was in good spirits, being highly satisfied with his day’s work. The small town of Ems lay on the Lahn, another tributary of the Rhine, and was only about ten miles by road from Coblenz. He would telephone Pastor Wachmuller at once, and if he was at home he would go out to see him either that evening or the following morning.

  As the car drew up he noticed that two Nazi Storm-Troopers were standing in front of the hotel entrance, and it was with a sudden apprehension that he saw them step forward. Next moment they were beside the car, and one of them said abruptly:

  ‘It is the order of our chief that you should come with us, Herr General.’

  8

  When Greek Meets Greek

  Though his brain was revving like a high-powered dynamo Gregory got out of the car with deliberate slowness. It would never do to show the least sign of fluster before these two brown-uniformed young men.

  Where had he slipped up? What had he done to give himself away so soon? Or was his acute anxiety quite unnecessary? Perhaps he had only been sent for because he had neglected to fulfil some formality when registering at the hotel the night before?

  ‘Who is your chief?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘He is Herr Schnabel,’ the taller Nazi replied, and immediately the situation was made plain to Gregory, for Herr Schnabel was the owner of the car which he had commandeered. When he had taken it he had been under the impression that it had belonged merely to an ordinary civilian engaged on A.R.P. work, but he now remembered that Fräulein Schultz had told him that Herr Schnabel was Chief Warden of Coblenz besides being an important member of the Nazi Party.

  He cursed himself for not having given that piece of information the consideration it had deserved, but it was too late now, and his only course lay in trying to use his prestige as a General to bluff his way out of the awkward predicament in which his neglect had landed him.

  ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘That’s the man whose car I was compelled to commandeer this morning, isn’t it? I owe him an apology, but I’m sure Herr Schnabel would understand if I were free to inform him of the facts that made it necessary. Please convey that message to him.’

  ‘He wishes to see you, Herr General,’ reiterated the Nazi, ‘and we have been waiting here all day for your return.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Gregory.

  ‘At the Party Headquarters.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have no time to accompany you there now, as I have some urgent telephone calls to make. Please express my regrets to Herr Schnabel for any inconvenience I may have caused him.’ Gregory turned to glance at Fräulein Schultz, and added: ‘This lady is, of course, in no way to blame, as she merely acted under my orders. My compliments upon your good driving, Fräulein; good night to you.’ With a quick salute he swung on his heel and strode into the hotel.

  The two young Nazis came hurrying after him, and the taller said swiftly: ‘But Herr General, it is an order; a Party order; and we cannot return to Herr Schnabel without you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Gregory swung round on him. ‘You don’t seem to appreciate, young man, that Germany is at war. I have every respect for officials of the Party, but in these days the military duties of an officer come before such matters as making amends to a Party official for having commandeered his car. I’ve already told you that I have important work to do.’

  The Nazi who did the talking was a well-built young fellow with rather nice blue eyes, but his expression did not denote any great degree of intelligence. He shuffled awkwardly for a moment before stuttering: ‘But—but, Herr General, it is an order, and Herr Schnabel says he must see you.’

  ‘All right, then,’ snapped Gregory; ‘tell him that if he wishes to do so he must come to the hotel. It is intolerable that I should be bothered in this manner.’

  The one thing that Gregory was determined not to do if he could possibly avoid it was to put his foot inside the Party Headquarters, for if he did he might never get out again.

  The senior Brownshirt shrugged resignedly, and looking at his companion, exclaimed: ‘Remain here with the Herr General, Otto; I go to telephone.’

  He hurried off, leaving Gregory in a wretched quandary. By going straight up to his room and refusing the other fellow permission to enter it he could get free of him for the moment, but he could not prevent him standing outside the door, Even if he could trick or browbeat him into remaining downstairs. Herr Schnabel might now be appearing on the scene at any moment, so there was little chance of Gregory’s being able to pack his things, pay his bill, and leave the hotel in a normal manner. If Schnabel caught him in the act of trying to make a speedy getaway he would have the best grounds for suspecting that the car-commandeering General was not what he represented himself to be; whereas, as far as Gregory knew at the moment, Schnabel had as yet no grounds at all for suspicions of that kind, but was just a self-important little official who was extremely ir
ritated by having been put to considerable inconvenience. It seemed safest, therefore, to remain where he was, and attempt to bluff the matter out.

  Simulating angry impatience, Gregory plonked himself down in a chair in the lounge, and bawled to a waiter to bring him a Knickerbinechen. A moment later he realised his error. This particular variety of German cocktail is made by putting Maraschino into a long, thin glass; then the whole yolk of a raw egg, and topping it off with Crème de Vanille. Germanmade marks of the liqueurs were doubtless procurable, but eggs had been scarce in Germany for years, and now that rationing was in full swing it was unthinkable that people should wolf them publicly in cocktails.

  When the elderly waiter began an apologetic protest, he cursed the man for a fool and told him that he had not said Knickerbinechen but Kleinerbranntwein, which is a small brandy; but he caught the remaining Nazi, who was standing some feet away from him, glancing at him with sullen disapproval.

  The fresh-faced fellow came hurrying back soon afterwards to say that Herr Schnabel was on his way round to the hotel. Gregory ignored the remark, and sat in frowning silence until his brandy arrived. When it did, he knocked it back with the thought that if he wasn’t darned careful it might be a long time before he had another.

  As he set down the glass the little man whom he had seen hurrying from the car to the lift that morning came strutting into the lounge. Although he was still in civilian dress, the two Nazis jumped to attention.

  On the old, if often fallacious, principle that attack is the best form of defence, Gregory had determined to get in the first shot. Remembering that he was supposed to be a man of nearly sixty, he lumbered up out of his chair as though it was an effort for him to get up quickly, drew his lean face into a thunderous scowl, and barked: ‘Von Lettow.’

  Herr Schnabel halted in his tracks, jerked forward from the wait and introduced himself, but he had hardly time to get his name out before Gregory growled: ‘Kindly explain this unwarrantable interference with my movements, mein Herr. That I had to take your car upon military business this morning was unfortunate but I have already ordered your people to express my regrets to you, and there the matter should have ended. I have urgent work to do.’

  ‘By what authority did you take my car?’ Herr Schnabel snapped. He had a ferret-face, narrow brow and light-blue eyes; Gregory had disliked him on sight.

  ‘By the authority vested in me as an officer of the General Staff,’ he replied, ‘and now that Germany is at war, I think you will find it difficult to produce any higher authority.’

  ‘In peace or war the authority of the Party is paramount, Herr General,’ retorted the Nazi chief, without hesitation.

  Gregory knew well enough that he was on extremely doubtful ground. In peace-time the Party chiefs had been in a position to ride rough-shod over anyone, even high officers of the Army; but there did seem good reason to suppose that the situation had altered during the last week and that, except in matters concerning the heads of the government and the Gestapo, Army officers might have regained the almost limitless powers which they had enjoyed during the last World War in Germany and the territory of her allies.

  ‘The safety of Germany is now in the hands of her soldiers,’ he said severely. ‘To hinder them in the execution of their duties is a punishable offence, and none who have the interests of the Fatherland at heart would ever do so.’

  ‘In the war zones that may be so,’ said Herr Schnabel, ‘but this is not a war zone, and as Chief Warden I am responsible for the safety of Coblenz. It is you who have hindered me in the execution of my duties. You had no right whatever to make off with my car.’

  ‘I had no alternative, since the car that was to have met me here failed to arrive, and my work is of the first importance.’

  ‘When we know what your work is, Herr General, we shall be better able to decide that.’

  ‘Since when has an officer of the General Staff been obliged to discuss his orders with a civilian?’

  Herr Schnabel whipped a notecase out of his pocket, and displayed his Party card, secured in it under a mica screen. ‘Here is my authority, Herr General; a high officer of the Party is not a civilian, and as you are in my district you will please inform me of what you are doing here.’

  ‘I have already told you that I have no intention of discussing my orders with anyone.’

  ‘Why not? I have told you what my duties are; what reason can you have for refusing to disclose yours to me? I demand to see your papers, Herr General, and if you refuse to show them I will call in the Gestapo.’

  Gregory knew that he was cornered. The Germans are not a very imaginative or clever people, but they are extraordinarily thorough, and produce some of the finest detectives in the world owing to the sheer, dogged persistence with which they follow up every smallest clue, despite endless trouble, until they can form some logical conclusion from the most insignificant of data. If once the Gestapo got their hooks into him he might just as well start right away to prepare his last will and testament—though it was extremely unlikely that any of his friends or legatees would ever see it.

  It would have been unwise to have changed his manner too suddenly, but he allowed his features to relax into indifference and, producing his forged credentials, said: ‘This is a sheer waste of time, Herr Schnabel, and it would be absurd for us to delay our urgent affairs further by involving others in so trivial a difference of opinion.’

  The Nazi chief took the papers and glanced swiftly through them ‘These seem all right,’ he muttered, ‘but they are only the usual passes. Have you no Army orders or other letters upon you?’

  ‘If I had, I would not show them to you,’ retorted Gregory stiffly.

  ‘Herr General,’ said Schnabel threateningly, ‘I regard this missing car of yours as most suspicious and I insist upon knowing your business in this area. If you have such letters, please to produce them.’

  Gregory shrugged. ‘Such letters as I have are upstairs in my baggage.’

  ‘All right, then; we will go up to your room, but your defiance of a Party Chief in my position is so unusual that in any case I consider that it should be reported to the Gestapo.’ Herr Schnabel glanced at his henchmen. ‘Weiss, Langleben, accompany the Herr General to his room while I telephone. If he refuses to produce his correspondence you have my authority to search his baggage.’

  With a curious, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach Gregory watched the self-important little man strut away. He dared not risk a fracas in the lounge, where many people were sitting drinking, some of them already eyeing him and his companions with open curiosity. With a heavy step he walked towards the lifts, the two Nazis following.

  When he reached his room the sullen-looking man who had been addressed as Langleben closed the door and took up his position just inside it, while the fresh-faced Weiss accompanied Gregory into the middle of the room and said, rather nervously: ‘Will you produce the papers, Herr General, or must I search your luggage?’

  Gregory shrugged again. ‘All this is quite unnecessary and when I have reported this matter to Army Headquarters your Chief will get a rap over the knuckles that he won’t forget in a hurry; but you are only doing your duty, young man, so remain where you are, please, while I get the letters from my suitcase.’

  He had no letters or documents of any kind other than the passes he had already shown, with which to establish his identity, but he walked over to the suitcase, unlocked it, threw up the lid, and stooping down pretended to rummage in it. He was bending over it with his back to the two Nazis, and unperceived by them he undid his pistol holster. Next second he swung round with his automatic firmly clenched in his fist.

  ‘Up with your hands! Both of you! Quick! No arguing, or I’ll shoot you where you stand! You, Langleben, turn your face to that door. Weiss, right-about turn; walk to the wall and glue your nose to that picture. Utter a sound and I’ll shoot you both for the impudent dogs you are!’

  He had caught them completely off the
ir guard. Slowly they raised their hands above their heads and with ludicrously fallen faces obeyed his order to turn their back to him.

  In two strides he had crossed to Langleben, reached past him and turned the key in the lock of the door. A moment later he had disarmed them both, pressing his automatic against their spines as he did so, and taking not only their pistols but also their spare clips of ammunition, with the swift thought that it might come in useful later.

  Having rammed their guns into the pockets of his greatcoat, he stepped back into the centre of the room and gave his next order. ‘Right-about turn! Into the bathroom! And if you shout when I’ve shut the door I’ll come in and fill the two of you with lead! Now, quick march!’

  Still holding their hands shoulder-high they filed meekly past him. Once they were in the bathroom he removed the key and locked the door on his own side. Now that they were separated from him he had little hope that they would remain silent for more than a minute, but he had done the best he could to secure temporary immunity from a hue and cry.

  To his chagrin he had to abandon his belongings, but even had there been time to pack them he could not possibly have taken them with him. Without a second’s delay he unlocked the bedroom door, pulled out the key and slamming the door behind him locked it from the other side.

  He had not taken two steps down the corridor when Herr Schnabel came hastening round the corner and almost collided with him.

  For an instant they stared at each other. Schnabel sensed that Gregory was escaping and Gregory knew that he was caught; the scar showed white on his forehead. Then the mask of pretence dropped from both their faces, and in their eyes undisguised hatred suddenly flamed. In that moment all the German’s unformulated but instinctive suspicions that there was something not quite right about the self-styled General von Lettow were confirmed, and all Gregory’s intense dislike of the mean-faced little rat who had cornered him came rushing to the surface.