The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘I don’t think it matters much. I’ve motored through most of the country between Luxembourg and Basle at one time or another, and on both sides of the frontier, but I don’t know any particular part well enough for it to make any difference. Still, there is one thing I’d like if it could be arranged. I’ve a great friend, Captain Jean de Brissac, and if his Regiment happens to be anywhere near the Front, I’d like to take the opportunity of seeing him again. If he could be detailed to act as my liaison officer to shepherd me through the Army zone to your front line—unless, of course, he’s engaged on especially important work—I’d be grateful.’

  ‘De Brissac—yes, I know him. A very promising officer to whom we owe the invention of our new machine-gun. He was the man who had such extraordinary adventures in the South Atlantic, wasn’t he? Didn’t he get marooned for several months on some unknown islands in the uncharted sea?’

  ‘That’s the fellow, sir.’

  ‘Well, he’s a Major now, and he left his Regiment only a day or two to take up a Staff appointment. I’ll find out about him and see what can be arranged.’

  Colonel Lacroix stood up, and Gregory realised that the interview was over. Downstairs he met Ribaud, and arranged for a fitting of his S.S. uniform that afternoon, then, with a lighter heart than he had had for some days, he left the Sûreté to turn over the new plan in his mind and make preparations for it.

  There were actually very few preparations that he could make, save to get some large-scale maps and study them with a view to obtaining a thorough knowledge of the topography of the country behind the German battle-front and to buy a Baedeker’s Germany, in order to refresh his mind about the lay-outs of Munich and Berlin.

  He wrote a brief note to Sir Pellinore saying that he would not yet require the padded cell as he proposed to remain on the continent and a long letter to his old friend Rudd, thanking him for the part he had played in Holland and enclosing a cheque for a substantial amount which would ensure his not having to worry about the uncertain rents of his other tenants for some time to come.

  It was Tuesday, just a week after Madame Dubois’ death, and the last day of October, before he heard from the Sûreté again. Ribaud telephoned him after luncheon to come for a final fitting of his S.S. uniform. With its white tabs and silver braid on the dead black, its high-crowned cap, its swastika armlet and its silver eagle it was a tremendously impressive affair. The tailor who had measured him for it had done a good job of work, and declared that he could carry out the one or two very minor alterations necessary that evening, and have it finished by the following morning.

  Gregory’s original idea had been to carry this uniform through the German lines in a knapsack, but when he thought the matter over more carefully he soon realised that no soldier would go out on a trench raid carrying a heavily-loaded knapsack on his back and he therefore asked Ribaud to arrange for him to be provided with a wooden box of some kind, bearing German lettering, which had contained ammunition or stores.

  They then discussed what he should take into Germany with him and went carefully through Grauber’s belongings. Except for the soap his shaving-kit was still intact, so Gregory selected this, a set of his enemy’s underclothes to wear and a few other small items which he could stow away in the wooden box which he would receive at the same time as the German private’s uniform in which he was to cross no-man’s-land. When this had been arranged Ribaud told him to report again at ten o’clock on the following morning and to be ready to leave Paris forthwith.

  On the Wednesday, having packed up his own belongings and deposited them with the manager of the Saint Regis, he paid his bill and went to the Sûreté. He was shown straight up to Colonel Lacroix, who proceeded to give him his final instructions.

  ‘The S.S. uniform and the oddments of Grauber’s you are taking have been packed in a suitcase for you,’ he said. ‘Here is a first-class railway voucher. You will catch the midday express for Nancy. The train services from there are now irregular, of course, but your friend Major de Brissac will meet you on the station and motor you to the headquarters of a Division near Saarbrücken. We selected that sector because it is a quiet one, yet not so quiet that a small, local action will arouse undue comment, and because the houses of the evacuated town will give you good cover for the first stage of your journey through the enemy lines.

  ‘At the Divisional Headquarters they will give you dinner and provide you with facilities for changing into the soldier’s uniform. The Divisional Intelligence Officer will then accompany you as far as the front-line trenches, where a Company Commander will give you particulars of the local terrain. We have arranged for a trench raid to be made at about 11.30, as with the exception of their sentries the Germans will by then have settled down for the night, but you will thus have the maximum number of hours of darkness in which to work and with good luck you should be far enough behind the lines to change into your S.S. uniform before dawn. As your Reichmarks were returned to you on your release together with Erika von Epp’s swastika I assume that you have ample funds.’

  Gregory nodded, and the Colonel went on:

  ‘Here is Grauber’s card of authority and here are a few letters purporting to have been written to him which I have had faked up as an additional means of establishing your identity as Grauber should it prove necessary. On this slip of paper I have put Erika von Epp’s two addresses: Apartment 64, the Eitel Haus, Unter den Linden, Berlin, and Das Kleine Schloss, Prinz Ludwig’s Höhe, Munich. Prinz Ludwig’s Höhe, as you are probably aware, is a suburb of Munich some fifteen minutes’ run by car from the centre of the city, where there are many big houses, each with its own grounds and gardens. You’d better memorise these addresses and then destroy the paper. I have also one piece of good news for you. Grauber was brought before a Dutch court yesterday and sentenced to six months’ imprisonment. His real name wasn’t mentioned so as far as he’s concerned you have an absolutely clear run.’

  ‘Well, that is good news,’ Gregory grinned. ‘I hope he doesn’t miss the revolution, though, because I’ll have murder on my hands if he doesn’t get what’s coming to him and the rest of his gang of cut-throats from the German people.’

  ‘I also have a telegram for you.’ The Colonel stooped to his desk, which still had not a single sign of activity upon its top, and opened a drawer. ‘Here it is.’

  ‘What, another?’ laughed Gregory as he took the slip. It read:

  ‘HAVE REPLACED BOTTLE AND AM ADDING ELEVEN MORE BOUGHT TODAY BY TELEPHONE FROM THE TOUR D’ARGENT STOP BUT WILL NEVER TOUCH THE STUFF AGAIN UNLESS WE CAN DRINK TO YOUR SUCCESS IN IT STOP GWAINE-CUST.’

  ‘Why this change of heart, I wonder?’ Gregory murmured.

  ‘I took the trouble to inform him,’ said Lacroix quietly, ‘of the considerable service you rendered us in getting the key of that Gestapo code, and that you were returning into Germany with a new line on the old affair.’

  ‘That was very good of you. You see, I value his opinion of me enormously and it’s grand to have this telegram from him before I start. I value your opinion too, sir, and you may be sure that I’ll do my damnedest to pull this thing off.’

  ‘I know you will.’ The bright-eyed Colonel stood up and extended his hand. ‘If you succeed you will have earned the gratitude not only of Britain and France but also of the whole world. May le bon Dieu have you in his keeping and grant you wisdom, courage and resource.’

  On leaving the strange little man who was the custodian of so many secrets Gregory went downstairs, collected the suitcase from Ribaud and took a taxi straight to the station.

  His reservations were all in order and the train steamed out punctually at midday. As it gathered speed a phrase in Sir Pellinore’s second telegram recurred to his mind: ‘Wonder you have any money left after what you must have had to spend on wreaths.’

  A horrible truth lay behind the half-humorous gibe. He was indeed a bird of ill-omen. Rheinhardt was probably dead by now. Pastor Wachmuller had been shot be
fore his eyes. Archer Rosenbaum, Madame Dubois—all were dead, and it was he who, through his impostures, had brought death—agonising, bloody, scarlet death upon them.

  Now that he was once more to become an impostor and plunge headlong into the deadly game how many more unfortunates were to be blotted out through this terrible scarlet hoodoo that seemed to be upon him? It was a horrible thought and he forced it from his mind, knowing that he should snatch what sleep he could while the train roared on towards the now evermoving frontier where night and day the advance troops of the mighty French and German armies were at deadly grips.

  25

  Beyond the Maginot Line

  Immediately he stepped out on to the platform at Nancy Gregory heard a joyful shout, and his old friend, the dark, dashing de Brissac, in his smart uniform of horizon-blue and his scarlet, gold-braided képi, came hurrying to meet him.

  De Brissac piloted him to a closed car and they were soon heading for the battle-front. A chill wind was blowing and it was raining, but the weather did not seem to depress the Frenchman, who gave free rein to his delight at this unlooked-for reunion that the war had brought about. He asked no questions, however; it was his job to convey Gregory through the French military area, not to inquire as to what work he might be engaged upon.

  They took the road to Château Salins, where they first heard the mutter of guns, then bore north-east via Baronweiler and Faulquemont. From Baronweiler onwards signs of military activity increased, and soon they were threading their way in and out of the long, twin processions of lorries and mechanised units, moving to and from the Front. Every village through which they passed was crowded with French troops in khaki, while here and there they picked out the uniform of an English officer on some special duty or the blue of British Air Force detachments. Long lines of tanks were drawn up on special metalled sidings by the roadside, batteries of artillery, ambulance units and engineer companies seemed to be parked in nearly every field, while on the fringes of every wood they passed infantry or airmen were cooking their suppers, and they could make out the shapes of planes lightly concealed by branches broken from the trees.

  Owing to the patterns with which everything was camouflaged it was impossible to see much of the war equipment until they were quite close to it but it was obvious to Gregory that enormous reserves of troops and material had been concentrated there in readiness for the great battle which had been preparing for weeks, and which might still be launched at any moment if Hitler were mad enough to override the counsels of those of his Generals who were urging him to be patient until the spring.

  Between Faulquemont and St. Avoid they passed through the Maginot Line, but by that time the evening light was failing and Gregory could see little of it except occasional rows of concrete and steel tank obstacles winding away on either side of the road and huge, grass-covered mounds which had low doorways in their rear showing that they were forts and gun emplacements.

  The booming of the guns was much louder now and individual reports could be clearly distinguished against the background of their dull, distant rumbling. Occasionally there came a sharp explosion and a great cloud of black smoke billowed up across the evening skyline as the Boche strafed the French back areas, or with a sound like the crack of a giant whip one of the big French guns sent a great shell rumbling overhead towards the Siegfried Loop.

  It was dark by the time they reached Forbach, a small town some five miles from Saarbrücken, which was still in German hands, and only about three from the frontier. In this sector the French had neither advanced nor retreated very far as the outworks of the Siegfried Line ran nearer to the frontier here than at any other point along the whole battle zone. A bow had, in fact, been thrown out from the Loop of the Siegfried Line to protect Saarbrücken, and it was within this, right on the frontier itself, that sporadic fighting had been taking place ever since the war had broken out two months before.

  Even the dimmed lights of the car showed a little of the damage that had been done by the constant shelling of the German heavies, but they turned right on reaching Forbach’s ruined market-place and ran out of the wrecked town to a small château that was being used as a Divisional Headquarters. One wing of the building had been shattered and as Gregory followed de Brissac out of the car he saw a lot of the fallen rubble in the courtyard, but the rooms in the rest of the house had remained untouched and great activity was going on within.

  De Brissac led Gregory into the anteroom of the Officers’ Mess and introduced him to a Staff Colonel who in his turn introduced both of them to a number of other officers, and soon they were all having drinks together.

  No one inquired what a civilian was doing there. The presence of de Brissac, now attached to the staff of the Fifth French Army, as Gregory’s sponsor was enough, and the Divisional Commander greeted them both with warm handshakes. After this dinner was announced and they all moved into the Mess.

  It was a simple but good meal, washed down with an excellent though not outstanding claret, and Gregory would dearly have loved to have lingered there exchanging jokes and reminiscences of the last war with these genial Frenchmen, but he had work to do. Immediately after dinner, therefore, de Brissac asked the General to excuse them both and they were taken by an orderly to the office of the Divisional Intelligence Officer, a grey-moustached Captain named Laurent whom they found eating sandwiches as he had arrived back too late for dinner after questioning German prisoners in one of the advance cages.

  Having already received his instructions about Gregory he led him and de Brissac upstairs to his own room, where Gregory found the uniform of a German soldier of the 147th Infantry Regiment laid ready for him on a chair. It formed a strange contrast to the smart, black S.S. uniform which he carried in his bag, as the soldier’s uniform was of thin, poor-quality stuff containing only a small proportion of genuine wool. Its field-grey was muddied from service on the battle-field and a large splash of blood on one trouser-leg indicated that one of the companions of the prisoner from whom it had been taken had been killed or wounded just beside him.

  As Gregory picked it up he gave a sniff of disgust. Judging by the smell of his clothes the German who had worn it had not had a bath for a fortnight. Captain Laurent laughed at Gregory’s squeamishness and said that he must not mind the smell, as to ensure his having the uniform of a regiment that was still in the German line this one had been taken off a man captured only that morning. He assured Gregory that he had at least taken the precaution of having it put through the delousing plant that afternoon.

  While Gregory put on the dirty, grey garments and tried on a selection of captured German boots until he found a pair to fit him de Brissac changed from his smart Staff uniform into easy, khaki battle-dress which he had brought in a bag. Gregory protested that he did not want his friend to come right up to the front line with him but de Brissac only laughed.

  ‘As though I would allow you to go alone, mon vieux! Why, all sorts of things might happen to you. But nevertheless I do not wish to get my nice tunic and breeches all covered in mud through crawling about in the shell-holes our splendid guns have been making by the thousand up there.’

  Knowing that it would be useless, Gregory protested no further and bent to pack his S.S. uniform into the wooden box that Laurent had secured for him. The black stencilling on its sides showed that it had originally contained German canned-fruit and it took the uniform, high-crowned cap and shining, black field-boots quite comfortably.

  In the last war Gregory had never shirked a necessary danger or an urgent duty, but he had an absolute loathing of routine and most violently disagreed with the ruling in King’s Regulations which laid it down that whenever a party of twenty or more men was sent out on a job, even if it were only to collect hay or to march a mile to the divisional baths, an officer should be sent with them, especially as in all armies except that of Britain such parties were left in charge of their perfectly competent N.C.O.s.

  As a result of his views he had soon
developed all the cunning of the old soldier in the gentle art of swinging the lead, and he had found that the best way of escaping tiresome duties was to give the impression that he was already engaged on some other work. A man who is walking quickly and carrying something is obviously not at a loose end, so whenever Gregory had had occasion to leave his hut or tent behind the lines he invariably used to set off as though in a hurry to get somewhere, carrying with him a large sheaf of papers.

  The little trick had saved him endless hours of dreary, pointless duties, and applying the same psychology now he hoped that by carrying the tinned-fruit box he would immediately be put down as a fatigue man by anyone he bumped into behind the German lines, and would thus escape much awkward questioning.

  Donning their steel helmets and slinging their gas-masks over their shoulders the three of them went downstairs and got into de Brissac’s car, which began to crawl slowly along the road through the dead black-out.

  The rain had ceased, but it was very cold. Although it was only November the 1st snow had already fallen in that area a few days before. From overhead there came the noise of an occasional plane to mingle with the constant drumming of the guns, which could now be heard very plainly and which recalled to Gregory old memories of the Somme and Passchendaele.

  Now and again a shell exploded some distance to right or left of the road as the German gunners searched for the French batteries. Once there was a series of bright flashes and deafening reports as a French battery concealed in the darkness suddenly came into action near the roadside without the slightest warning, the blast from the cordite of the shell charges making the windows of the car rattle.

  About a mile further on the car halted by a row of faint red lights, and on Laurent’s saying ‘We must walk from here,’ they stepped out into the blackness. They were challenged by a sentry at the red lights, but Laurent gave the password of the night while de Brissac used some straps they had brought for the purpose to adjust the box containing the S.S. uniform firmly upon Gregory’s back so that he should have his hands free for his crawl across no-man’s-land. They then proceeded up the road on foot.