The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘You’ll sit here quitely for five minutes, then you can get off back to Berlin. But if you let out a shout while I’m still in this street I’ll run back and fill you full of lead. By the living God, I will, if it’s the last thing I ever do!’

  ‘All right—all right,’ the man mumbled, now clearly completely terrified of his maniac passenger. ‘I don’t want to die yet, so I’m not starting anything.’

  ‘You’d better not!’ muttered Gregory. ‘Because if you do, you’ll never live to start anything else.’

  With this last threat he scrambled from the car and set off down the street towards a just-discernible gateway which appeared to be the main entrance to the Palace. A sentry was on guard there, standing in front of a sentry-box. He halted Gregory and called his Sergeant.

  Gregory explained that he had an urgent message for the Military Governor, upon which the Sergeant led him through the gateway into a big courtyard which was surrounded on all four sides by tall buildings.

  The yard was chock-full of cars and their military chauffeurs could be dimly seen in the faint light standing about chatting in groups. From the number of cars and people mustered there it was clear to Gregory that von Pleisen had decided to rally the officers who were to take part in the Putsch at his own house and that the conference of which the telephonist had spoken concerned their final arrangements. Winding their way through the cars they crossed to the far side of the court and the Sergeant led Gregory up a broad flight of steps to the main entrance of the ancestral home of the Counts von Pleisen, which Gregory saw consisted of this great, four-sided building.

  ‘Civilian with message for His Excellency,’ said the Sergeant huskily.

  ‘This way,’ said a voice, as he hurried up the steps, and an overcoated porter on duty there threw open a door, the handle of which it would have been difficult to find in the almost total darkness caused by the overhanging portico, repeating as he did so to somebody inside:

  ‘Civilian with message for His Excellency.’

  Going in, Gregory passed an A.R.P. light-lock formed by some heavy, hanging tapestries a few feet beyond the door and found himself in a well-lighted vestibule. An elderly manservant in dark clothes stood there, also a Colonel and three Majors, in great-coats and caps, who were talking together in low voices. They had evidently been posted there as a special guard and Gregory realised that although it might be a comparatively easy matter to get into the Pleisen Palace it would be a very difficult business to get out again if its master desired to detain one.

  ‘I want to see His Excellency,’ said Gregory sharply to the servant.

  The man shook his head. ‘His Excellency is in conference; he can see no one.’

  ‘If you’ll take my name in he will see me,’ said Gregory with quiet assurance. ‘My business is of the most urgency.’

  The Colonel suddenly stepped forward. ‘His Excellency cannot be disturbed. But if you will tell me what your business is, and it really is of an urgent nature, I will give him a message from you directly the conference breaks up.’

  ‘Danke schön, Herr Oberst’ replied Gregory. ‘But my business is personal and it is to do with the conference which His Excellency is holding at this moment.’

  Two of the Majors moved slightly, cutting off Gregory’s retreat from the door, while the Colonel said: ‘I think you’d better tell me.’

  Gregory took Erika von Epp’s little golden swastika from his pocket and held it out. ‘We’re wasting time that may be absolutely vital to the plans that His Excellency is making now. Please take this to him immediately and tell him that Gregory Sallust is here with news of the utmost importance.’

  The Colonel’s face changed instantly, and taking the swastika he handed it to one of the Majors with an abrupt order to carry it with Gregory’s message to His Excellency. Two minutes later the Major returned, beckoned to Gregory, and leading him down a broad passage, flung open the door.

  It led into the lofty banqueting hall of the Palace and between two and three hundred officers were assembled there talking in animated groups. Nearly all of them were either Generals, Colonels or Staff Officers, as Gregory saw at once from the glittering array of gilt foliage and stars which decorated the collars and shoulders of their tunics. Many of them wore distinguished orders, hanging from their necks and nearly all had a row or more of medal-ribbons on their breasts. At the far end of the great room Gregory could just see the grey, distinguished head of the tall General Count von Pleisen as the Major who was acting as his guide led him through the crush in that direction.

  Gregory caught sight of a big clock at one end of the hall. Its hands pointed to 8.14, Erika had been in the clutches of the Gestapo for just about an hour and a quarter. Grauber was a sadist, so he would derive a personal joy from torturing a beautiful woman. It was probably that he would take his time about the business, and rack her mentally before proceeding to extremities. Gregory could only pray that things were happening so, and now that he had succeeded in getting to von Pleisen he was inclined to take a more optimistic view of Erika’s chances. There was no time to lose, not a moment, as during the second hour she was under examination Grauber would certainly begin to apply physical torture. But it would be slow, subtle and ingeniously planned, and if von Pleisen exercised his authority to have Erika transferred under a guard to a military prison, an order, telephoned at once, might yet be in time to haul Grauber up short and prevent his satiating his sadistic lust by applying that ghastly ‘beauty treatment’ with which he had threatened Erika.

  The Count was engaged in a sharp argument with several other senior officers, but catching sight of Gregory out of the corner of his eye he broke it off and turned swiftly towards him.

  ‘Well? What brings you here? Not bad news, I hope?’

  In a few quick sentences Gregory told him of Erika’s arrest.

  ‘That’s bad,’ said von Pleisen. ‘But in an hour or two we’ll have her out of it.’

  ‘An hour or two!’ Gregory repeated, aghast. ‘But don’t you realise, Excellency, what she may be going through as we stand here? Surely you can use your authority as Military Governor. Have one of your people telephone an order that she’s to be handed over at once to the Military Police.’

  Von Pleisen sadly shook his head. ‘Impossible. An order of that kind is so irregular that it would be challenged and arouse immediate suspicion. I know what you must be suffering, since you love her, and I’m as fond of her myself as if she were my own daughter, but our success tonight must not be jeopardised by the fate of a single woman, however precious she may be to us personally.’

  ‘But they may be torturing her! We must stop that somehow—we must! And she’s your niece. Telephone them yourself and say it’s your personal wish that her examination should be held over till the morning.’

  ‘Not even I can stay the hand of the Gestapo, and to remind them of the fact that she’s my niece would only serve further to jeopardise the success of the Putsch. They might send some of their people out here to question me about her recent movements and find out how I’d learned of her arrest. If one of them got to know of this assembly, and succeeded in reaching a telephone, our whole plan of campaign would be ruined.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Gregory groaned. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

  ‘Nothing for the moment. Immediately the Putsch is over we will get her out, but until then she must take her chance.’

  ‘But don’t you see,’ cried Gregory, swiftly resorting to an impersonal argument, ‘she’s only human and she knows all about your plans. It’s not only me they’re after. Grauber knows that I was trying to gather together the threads of the anti-Nazi conspiracy, and if he tortures her to tell what she knows about that she may be compelled to give them information which will ruin the whole Putsch at the eleventh hour.’

  Von Pleisen spoke with an effort and his face was grey as he said: ‘We march at nine o’clock. To advance the hour even by five minutes would throw out our whole schedule, so I am
determined not to leave this hall one second before the clock strikes. My niece is a von Epp and she will not betray us.’

  Gregory looked at the clock again. Its hands now stood at 8.16. Forty-four minutes to go till the hour, at least another twenty to drive back to Berlin, a further half-hour or more before the Putsch would become effective. There was now no hope of his reaching Erika until after ten, and by that time she would have been at Grauber’s mercy for over three hours.

  He knew that von Pleisen was right and that the beauty, sanity of life of one woman, however dearly loved, could not be allowed to weigh against the happiness of millions. Yet he was filled with bitter fury against the General and could have screamed aloud at his own impotence. As he thought of the agony of suspense he had yet to endure, and of the broken, crippled, bleeding state in which he was now certain that he would find his adored Erika, he very nearly fainted.

  32

  The Night of Blood

  There was nothing further that Gregory could do. Even if the General had been willing to let him, it would have been utterly useless for him to return to Berlin at once in an attempt to save Erika single-handed. It was as hopeless to think of forcing his way into the cells at Gestapo Headquarters as it would have been to contemplate breaking into the vaults of the Bank of England. Agony as it would be, he must wait there until von Pleisen led out his officers. He had done everything in his power to save Erika, and these endless minutes during which he was compelled to remain inactive might mean for her the difference between being rescued while still unharmed or after being disfigured for life. Yet now he could only recommend her to the keeping of the deathless gods who had given her her beauty and her courage.

  Almost in a daze he found that von Pleisen was presenting him to the other high officers in his immediate neighbourhood as the brave Englishman who had risked death to bring them the list of the Inner Gestapo and the letter of the Allied Statesmen. To Gregory’s amazement, as they stood round bowing and smiling their congratulations von Pleisen took off his own Iron Cross of the First Class and decorated him with it in the name of the future German Government.

  As he stuttered his thanks for the honour done him, and clasped hands with the many officers who eagerly offered him their congratulations, von Pleisen turned back to the Generals with whom he had been talking when Gregory entered the room.

  While Gregory shook hand after hand and, forcing a smile, tried to make light of his exploits, his eye was constantly switching to the clock, yet the long hand seemed to hardly move at all. At any other time he would have been intensely proud and delighted at receiving the decoration, but what was the Iron Cross of the First Class—the highest award for bravery that Germany could bestow—compared with Erika’s safety? It was a worthless piece of tin beside one tendril of her golden hair.

  In his imagination, while the minute-hand of the clock crept round its dial with maddening slowness, as he saw fat, bespectacled, kindly Rheinhardt being flogged into writing the letter that had duped Madame Dubois, and the horror upon her face as she had opened her parcel of flowers to see it dissolve in the blinding flash of the explosion that had killed her.

  In a vague way he knew that Orderly Officers were now constantly arriving through another entrance to report upon completed preparations. Some General or other had everything ready to seize the Central Telephone Exchange. So-and-So’s troops were awaiting the signal to swoop on the Berlin Broadcasting Station; somebody else was preparing to establish a cordon round the Chancellery; another General’s command was standing to arms in barracks ready to march on the S.S. Headquarters. Soon the darkened streets of the German capital would be alive with marching troops on their way to the railway stations, the great lighting plants, the Templehof aerodrome and the private residences of the leading members of the Nazi Government.

  Tanks were to take up positions in the squares, armoured cars were to patrol the streets and corner buildings were to be seized so that machine-gun nests which could command the main thoroughfares could be established in their upper storeys. Artillery was being trained on the Nazi strong points, the barracks of the Brown-Shirts and of the Black Guards and on Gestapo Headquarters.

  When it penetrated to Gregory’s tortured mind that they were prepared to use guns if they encountered resistance, his face went as white as chalk. Erika was a prisoner in Gestapo Headquarters. If the Army shelled it the searing flame of high explosive or a jagged splinter of steel might complete the mutilation of her dear person on which Grauber would by now have started. Shutting his eyes for a moment Gregory prayed fiercely. ‘Oh God, don’t let her die. Oh God, don’t let her die. Spare her for me even if she’s scarred and crippled.’

  The argument between the senior Generals was still in progress. One tall, gaunt man, who wore a rimless monocle in a hatchet face and was addressed as Prinz, was saying to von Pleisen: ‘I protest, Excellency; it would be madness to give these dogs a chance. Everyone of them deserves death, and this is no time to parley.’

  ‘Ja, ja!’ A broad-shouldered, grey-haired man backed him up. They are certain to be armed. The second we enter the banqueting-room of the Adlon our machine-guns must open and mow them down before they can offer any resistance.’

  But von Pleisen shook his fine, aristocratic head. ‘Nein, meine Herrschaften, I will not have it. You insisted that if Hitler were not killed or arrested within a few minutes of our assault on the Adlon someone would be certain to warn him of our Putsch by telephone, and that since we could not be in two places at once in sufficient force to subdue gatherings of several hundred armed Nazis, special measures should be taken in Munich. All against my principles, I consented that a bomb, with sufficient explosive in it to wreck the Bürgerbräu Keller and kill Hitler and his principal supporters, should be placed in the roof there and timed to go off at the same moment as we open our attack on the Sons of Siegfried. That can only be justified by the fact that we cannot be in Munich ourselves and that the seizing of Berlin, whether Hitler escapes or whether he does not, is the most vital factor in the whole movement. But the brutal massacre of several hundred Nazis, where massacre is not essential, is quite another matter. What you propose is just the sort of thing that Hitler would do, and the German Army must not dishonour itself in its very first move by such brigand methods. The Sons of Siegfried must be given a chance to surrender peacefully before we open fire upon them.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said several others; and von Pleisen went on:

  ‘You have chosen me as your leader for this momentous undertaking and I must ask you to take my decision on this point as an order.’

  That quelled the protests of the monocled Prince and his supporters, but there were unconvinced shakings of many heads at von Pleisen’s humane ruling.

  At last the minute-hand of the clock pointed to five to nine. Von Pleisen’s adjutant called for silence and the babel of voices was instantly hushed. The Count then spoke briefly but from the heart, of the iniquities of the Nazi régime and of the disgrace and misery that Hitler had brought upon Germany, He ended with a rousing appeal to every man present that night to do his duty, even if he were called on to lay down his life for the salvation of the Fatherland.

  Raising his hand he cried: ‘Follow me! Between us we will see to it that every swastika flag is hauled down and that tomorrow the Imperial Eagles shall float again in the free breeze over Germany’s cities. By virtue of your own free will and patriotism I command you to march, in order that Germans may once more lift their faces to the world as an honourable and free people.’

  As he ceased, the strokes of nine began to chime from the clock and were drowned in a great burst of cheering. The doors of the great room were flung open, and through a lane of wildly enthusiastic officers General Count von Pleisen marched with solemn dignity from the room, followed by the senior Generals and his personal entourage.

  Gregory found himself next to von Pleisen’s Adjutant, von Hohenlaub, a dark, keen-faced man, who took charge of him as the officers
streamed out into the courtyard and found him a place beside him in a car.

  One by one the cars rolled from the courtyard and took the road to Berlin. Everything was now very quiet. The big cars sped on smoothly until they reached the centre of the city. Out of the blackness on either side there loomed up patrols of troops. They were the advance guard of the Putsch and were taking up their positions to form a cordon round the Adlon. The car in which Gregory had a seat slowed down then drew up before the main entrance of the hotel. On the pavement there were more troops and crowds of officers who were alighting from the other cars. Gregory passed among them into the building. No-one spoke, and the hall of the great luxury hotel was strangely silent.

  ‘The place was taken over five minutes ago,’ von Hohenlaub informed Gregory. ‘Since then no one has been allowed into the banqueting-room or out of it, except a certain number of waiters who were on our lists as trusted men but didn’t know themselves what was going to happen until the hotel was raided just now and they were given their orders.’

  At one end of the great lounge the hotel guests were congregated, sitting and standing about covered by officers with sub-machine guns. Von Pleisen paused for a minute in the hall to speak to the General who had just taken over the hotel, and in the crush Gregory was brought quite near to him again. He glanced for a second at Gregory, then at his adjutant and said:

  ‘Von Hohenlaub, look after Mr. Sallust for me, please. If there’s trouble it would be hard luck for him to be killed after having risked his life so often in getting here.’

  With a pale smile Gregory produced his own automatic and the one he had taken off the Nazi chauffeur whom he had forced to drive him out to Potsdam. ‘Thank you, Excellency; but I can look after myself and, by God, I mean to be in at the finish!’

  Von Pleisen nodded and turned away towards the stairs. Officers carrying light machine-guns and automatics followed him, Gregory and von Hohenlaub among them.