The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  When he got back to Erika’s apartment he found her waiting for him, pale-faced and anxious, but her cry of joy as he entered the hall showed him at once that it was only his absence which had caused her to lose her splendid nerve for a little. Directly he told her that he had got the goods she flung her arms about him deliriously, then, sending him off to his bedroom, she got on the telephone.

  Five minutes later she let him out again, and clutching his hand exclaimed: ‘Everything’s all right. He can see me at half-past two and when I’ve explained the situation to him I feel sure that he’ll manage somehow to arrange to give you an interview this evening.’

  After they had eaten the luncheon which she had helped to prepare she left him for an hour, getting back at about half-past three to say that her friend was so eager to see the things that Gregory had for him and so anxious that no additional risk should be taken by Gregory’s carrying them through the streets, that he had suggested coming in person to her apartment at ten o’clock that night.

  The long afternoon seemed interminable, but slowly the grey November day outside the windows began to be lost in the falling shadows. They played the gramophone for a little, and clearing the rugs in the sitting-room danced to it on the parquet floor. At eight o’clock they fed again and at a quarter to ten Erika sent Gregory to his bedroom and locked him in.

  Twenty-five minutes later she came to let him out. With him he brought the photograph of Goebbels, still in its paper wrapping, and his automatic. In the sitting-room he found a tall figure in the field-grey uniform of a German General seated in an armchair, but it was quite impossible to identify him because he was wearing his gas-mask.

  The General got up and bowed stiffly to Gregory’s ‘Good evening, sir,’ and Erika said: This is the English Secret Service agent whom I have told you about.’

  Without making any reply the General nodded and just held out his hand for the thin packet Gregory was carrying; but Gregory shook his head and producing his gun laid it on the table near his hand as he said:

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t part with these papers until I’m satisfied of your identity. I might be handing them to a Gestapo man or a Russian agent dressed in a German General’s uniform.’

  The General coughed, then spoke in a deep, obviously disguised voice: ‘I appreciate your reasons for extreme caution. As against that it may be that these papers are forgeries and just a trick by which you seek to ascertain who I am. Will you allow me, therefore, to look at the papers before I remove my mask?’

  ‘Yes; I’m agreeable to that. But I warn you that if you attempt to destroy them or take them away without my permission I shall shoot you through the heart; if it’s the last thing I ever do.’

  As Gregory undid the packet he had a sudden, appalling thought. It was getting on for nine weeks since Cornelius Vanderhoorst had pasted the photograph over those incredibly valuable papers. All that time it had been left unguarded in his office and at night, or in his absence, anyone might have tampered with it. Supposing someone had stolen the precious list and letter, and they were no longer there!

  His fingers trembled so that he could hardly open his penknife, but he forced himself to steady them, and sliding the blade under the edges of the print he ripped it off. To his unutterable relief the things were still in place; a sheet of tissue paper with a long list of names typed on it, and a single page of notepaper bearing the British Arms in a lozenge. Without even a glance at their contents he handed them to the silent, gargoyle-like figure in the hideous mask, and picked up his gun.

  The General read them through carefully, then he stood up, laid them on the table, removed his cap and gas-mask, and said:

  ‘I’m quite satisfied that these are not forgeries, because I know the signature to the letter. Also this list of names conveys exactly what I wished to know about the inner Gestapo. You will understand how essential it was to take every precaution against my being recognised, but I’m happy now to introduce myself to you. I am General Count von Pleisen, Military Governor of Berlin, and on behalf of Germany and the world I thank you, sir, for the great risks you have taken to convey these papers to me.’

  Gregory laid down his pistol, and picking up the papers handed them back to the General, as he replied: ‘I too, am satisfied, Your Excellency, because the second you removed your mask I knew who you were from your photographs in the Press. My name is Gregory Sallust, and I am deeply conscious of the honour done me by the British and French Governments when I was entrusted with this mission. But I must tell you that I should never have succeeded in fulfilling it if it had not been for the magnificent help given to me by the Countess von Osterberg.’

  ‘Achy die kleine Erika!’ The tall, hawk-faced, grey-haired General laid his hand affectionately on Erika’s shoulder. ‘She is a woman in a thousand and it’s a privilege to know her.’

  Erika smiled. ‘Dear Uncle Jocheim! You always did believe in me, even when I was the bad girl of the family and disgracing you all. But in this affair co-operation has been easy, because, you see, Gregory and I have fallen desperately in love. I suppose it’s quite terrible that two people should fall so shamelessly for each other when their countries are at war. Yet two nights ago we were swept right off our feet. He was crazy enough this afternoon to tell me that he wants me to divorce Kurt and marry him, and I’ve become so like a silly schoolgirl that I even let myself dream for a little that I might agree.’

  ‘So you’ve regained your lost illusions.’ Von Pleisen’s smile was tinged with gentle cynicism, but very kind, as he went on: ‘Well, love takes no account of nationalities, and in any case I don’t think we can consider Mr. Sallust as an enemy.’

  Erika slid her hand into Gregory’s. ‘But what are we going to do with him, now he knows that it is you who are to lead the Army against Hitler? Naturally, I trust him, but then I’ve been a little mad these last two days, and that’s no reason why you should. If you wish to put him behind bars until we’ve struck our blow for freedom, he’s quite willing to go.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ replied von Pleisen with a twinkle. ‘Some of my officers are waiting outside for me. If those papers had been forgeries I should have called them in to arrest Mr. Sallust, and I fear you might never have seen him again. As the letter is genuine that is quite sufficient guarantee of his integrity, and from the look of the two of you I think your eyes will prove better jailers than any prison bars. I’m quite prepared to leave him in your keeping.’

  ‘I thank Your Excellency,’ Gregory smiled. ‘I should like to remain in Berlin, at least till the Putsch is over; and I don’t mind how long my sentence is as long as my presence here isn’t likely to bring danger to Erika.’

  ‘I can give you your sentence now. It will be three nights and days from this evening.’

  ‘You’ve already made up your mind when to act, then?’ Erika exclaimed in a whisper quick with excitement.

  ‘Yes, my dear.’ Count von Pleisen lifted the thin sheet of tissue paper. ‘These are the names of the traitor officers who are in the pay of the Nazis. One thing struck me immediately on looking through the list. At least half of them to my knowledge—and probably all—belong to a society called the Sons of Siegfried. It’s supposed to be an ordinary, military dining club and they hold their dinners on the eighth of each month at the Hotel Adlon. One of the rules of the Club is that only one officer per Division may be a member, but one officer of each Army Corps and Army Garrison Staff is eligible, as are also a certain number of officers attached to the War Office and General Headquarters. The ostensible reason given for that is to limit the membership yet enable Staff Officers of every Unit in the Army to meet and exchange views.

  ‘Now we know the real reason. Some of these officers are captains, some majors and some colonels, but each is in a situation where he can spy upon a General of importance, and between them this network of espionage covers the whole German Army.

  ‘Many of them will, of course, be with their Units at t
he front, but it is certain that most of them will manage to obtain leave somehow to attend this monthly dinner in Berlin. Therefore, the majority of them will be gathered together at the Adlon on the night of November the 8th; and what more perfect opportunity could we ask to bag so many of them in one swoop? Three days is ample time, too, for me to issue secret instructions for our friends to arrest those members of the Sons of Siegfried who do not get leave to attend the meeting on the night it takes place. Once they are out of the way we should not have any serious difficulty in dealing with the rank and file of the Nazi Party on the following morning.’

  Erika nodded. ‘Then the 8th is to be the decisive night and the 9th the glorious morning when we shall raise the flag of Freedom.’

  ‘Are there any means of ascertaining absolutely definitely where Hitler will be on the night of the 8th?’ asked Gregory.

  ‘His intended movements are always kept highly secret, and although I always know them, he very often changes his plans at the last moment. But in this case we’re exceptionally fortunate—another good omen, I think. Every year on November the 8th the abortive Putsch of 1923 is celebrated in the Bürgerbräu Keller at Munich. All the Old Guard Nazis gather there for a great reunion and so far Hitler has never failed to spend the evening with them. Arrangements are already being made for him to do so this year as usual. It would cause the greatest resentment among many of his staunchest supporters if he failed to put in an appearance, so I feel confident that he won’t change his plans on this occasion, unless he has exceptionally grave reasons for doing so.’

  Erika poured glasses of wine for them and they all drank solemnly to November the 8th, the night that was to free Germany from the chains of the Nazis. Afterwards von Pleisen said that first thing in the morning he would send papers which would cover Gregory from any casual inquiries by showing him to be an American journalist of German origin who had permission to reside temporarily in Berlin, but he requested him not to leave the flat and said that Erika should remain with him to vouch for him in case of a surprise visitation by the police such as were taking place all over Germany. Then, thanking them both most cordially again and wishing them much joy of each other, he took his departure.

  The days that followed passed for Gregory and Erika almost as though they were in a dream. They had nothing in the world to do but love each other to their hearts’ content. Old Franz and Irmgarde only smiled discreetly, delighted to see their dear mistress so radiantly happy, and Gregory made great friends of the old couple.

  The weather was dismal and it rained much of the time, but that did not trouble them as they never went out, and they were glad to see the rain for they knew that it would further delay major operations on the Western Front. Hitler’s Blitzkrieg was still threatened, but still hung fire. Von Brauchitsch and General Halder, the Chief of the High Command Operations Council, were both rumoured to have been retired because they had opposed it. Von Keitel, Hitler’s yes-man, was prepared to launch the great offensive in the West, but Goering and most of the other high officers counselled prudence and were also against jeopardising Germany’s superiority in planes by launching the Air Force against England. Between them and von Ribbentrop the breach was widening as they differed so violently in their views as to the conduct of the war.

  Soon Hitler would be forced to take one side and purge the other, and in a last desperate effort to save himself and his backers von Ribbentrop was now urging an attack on Holland and Belgium. After the bitter disappointment of Molotov’s speech in the Kremlin on November the 1st, and Marshal Voroshilov’s open hostility to the Germans, there seemed little hope that Russia could be induced to lend her full support against the Allies, or even to provide Germany, without payment, with adequate supplies to defy the Blockade and sit down to sustain a siege of several years’ duration.

  It had become more urgent than ever, therefore, that Germany should strike while still at the height of her strength and before Britain, with American assistance, could attain complete air superiority. It was argued that with their fast mechanised columns the German Army could occupy Holland before the water-level of the flooded areas could rise sufficiently to prove a serious barrier. That would give Germany twenty-seven more air bases and bring her bombers within 150 miles of England and thus enable her to strike at the very heart of her principal enemy. Holland and Belgium were both fully mobilised. The King of the Belgians and the Queen of the Netherlands, with their principal advisers, were now in constant consultation, fearing for their countries the fate that had overtaken Poland. Yet certain crack German Divisions were being moved down into Austria, so it might be that the threat to the Low Countries was only a bluff and that the real intention was to defy Russia and strike down at Rumania through Hungary.

  In the meantime the world waited, and Erika and Gregory remained on tenterhooks, praying that Goering’s counsel of caution might still prevail and that the hundred Divisions which were now in position along Germany’s frontiers would not be launched to bring ruin and death to the neutral countries in these last few days which must pass before, all unknown to the soldiers, sailors and airmen in their battle stations, the Jews, Socialists and Bible-Students in the concentration-camps and the millions of anxious families scattered up and down the world, a new hope of unexpected peace and freedom was maturing.

  At last the great day arrived, and from the moment they woke in the morning the minutes dragged, each seeming to crawl by so that the hands of the clocks in the flat barely appeared to move. They tried to talk but could not keep on any subject. Neither dance-music, the broadcasts nor the war news could distract them. It all seemed so unimportant now. Their thoughts were riveted upon what would happen that evening somewhere about half-past nine, when the Sons of Siegfried were all assembled and had sat down behind closed doors to their monthly banquet, and von Pleisen’s officers were mustering in secret for the Putsch. They had drinks in the morning, drinks in the afternoon and smoked endless cigarettes, but they made a pact at tea-time that they would not have another drink until seven o’clock. As the clock chimed seven Gregory got up with a sigh of relief, and leaving the sitting-room went down the passage to the big cupboard round the corner at its far end, near the kitchen, which was used as a cellar.

  He had just got out a bottle to make some champagne cocktails when he heard a sharp ring at the bell. Remaining where he was, he waited there, concealed by the angle of the corridor, until Irmgarde went to answer it. Immediately she opened the door he heard a rough voice say:

  ‘Stand aside! We are the Gestapo and we have come to see the Countess von Osterberg.’

  Irmgarde gave a cry of fright, then there was the sound of trampling feet as the men pushed past her and entered the sitting-room. Gregory stood there very cold and still, his heart hammering in his chest, the bottle of champagne still clutched in his hand.

  He had not got his pistol on him and he knew that several men had entered the apartment. All of them were certain to be armed, and his gun was in his bedroom at the other end of the flat. To get it he would have to pass the doors of both the sitting-room and the hall.

  Peering round the corner he saw that one S.S. man was still standing by the hall door, clutching Irmgarde by the arm, while the poor old thing wept into her apron. The man’s back was to the door, which he had closed behind him, so he was side-ways-on to Gregory and there was no possibility of stealing on him from behind and striking him down with the bottle.

  As Gregory crouched there, half-crazy with anxiety, a high effeminate voice came clearly to him from the open sitting-room door.

  ‘So, Countess, we’ve got you! What a pretty traitor, to be sure! I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, but I never thought I should find that you were mixed up with a British Secret Service man.’ It was Grauber speaking.

  Erika’s voice came then. It was perfectly calm and faintly amused. ‘My dear Herr Gruppenführer, I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh yes, you have.
A man called Sallust impersonated me in Munich. You were seen dancing with him just before I entered the ballroom on that night we supped together at the Regina Palast. Unfortunately I didn’t learn that until four days afterwards, but once I did the rest was easy. Your parlourmaid was persuaded to talk. He had been out to see you at Das Kleine Schloss that morning and he was waiting to see you when you got home that night. He disappeared after that, but we found his S.S. uniform hidden in your clothes-closet.

  ‘You gave him a change of clothes and helped him to escape, and that is treason in the first degree. I’m afraid you’re in for a very unpleasant time, my dear Countess, when we get back to the Gestapo office; because I mean to have every single thing you know about this man out of you so that we can run him to earth. The new beauty-treatment that I’ve invented will, I am sure, make you talk. The rapid application of flexible rods to the more tender parts of the body brings a lovely, healthy flush to the skin, and the removal of the eyebrows with a white-hot iron makes it quite unnecessary ever to go to the bother of plucking them again. Then there’s an eyelash paste, mainly consisting of red pepper, which gives the eyes a most unusual hue, and a liquid-rouge, made with vitriol, which creates somewhat large but permanent dimples in the cheeks. Even your latest lover would not know you when we’ve done with you. Come on, now, quick march!’

  Erika made no reply, but the sound of footsteps came again and it was clear that she was being led away. Gregory felt a wild urge to dash forward, bottle in hand, but he knew that it was utterly useless. He would be riddled with bullets before he could strike a single one of them down. With the sweat streaming down his face he remained there as they marched her off and the front door was slammed-to with a bang.

  Instantly Gregory started forward, but the second his head was round the corner he halted and drew back. Two of the S.S. men had remained behind in the hall and one of them was saying to Irmgarde: