The Scarlet Impostor

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘You’ll have to stand your trial,’ said von Hohenlaub, ‘and I expect we’ll get enough on you to shoot you a hundred times over. Still, that’s better than being torn to pieces by the mob as most of your kind will have been by this time tomorrow and you’ll be safe as long as you’re in my custody.’

  ‘Ah, tomorrow—’ said Grauber quickly. ‘The tables may have been turned by then. You can see for yourself that the Army’s very far from having got the best of us yet, and even if you do win I may be able to wangle things before my trial. “While there’s life there’s hope,” you know, as they say in England. It’s tonight that worries me. I know Sallust’s type, so I can trust him. But he might go off and leave me in your hands. If I take you to the Countess will you swear not to shoot me?’

  ‘Yes, on the word of an officer,’ said von Hohenlaub.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ echoed Gregory. ‘But for God’s sake speak, man! Where is Erika?’

  ‘She’s not in the prison. I took her to my house—41, Rupprecht Strasse. She’s in a private cell there.’

  As the driver backed and turned the car, Gregory leaned forward. Relief was mingled with fear in his voice as he cried: ‘Is she all right? Is she all right, or have you been playing your devil’s tricks on her?’

  But the effort to talk coherently while enduring such pain had proved too much for Grauber. He had fallen back in his corner and was again moaning pitifully, and even when Gregory shook him violently he could get no reply to his anxious questioning. Two minutes later Grauber’s groaning ceased. He had fainted again.

  They had to make several detours to avoid the fighting and twice they were halted by military patrols, but a quarter of an hour later the car pulled up outside 41, Rupprecht Strasse.

  Between them they managed to rouse Grauber, and pulling him from the car they supported him across the pavement.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Gregory asked again urgently, as they staggered with the half-conscious man up a short flight of steps to his front door. ‘And why did you bring her here instead of taking her to Gestapo Headquarters?’

  Grauber was fumbling for his keys. ‘Had an idea the Army Chiefs were up to something,’ he mumbled. Thought I might be able to do a private deal with her, but she wouldn’t talk.’

  ‘Then you did put her through it?’

  As the door swung open Grauber stumbled and nearly fell. Von Hohenlaub caught him and supported him to a chair while Gregory snatched the bunch of keys.

  ‘Which one?’ he cried. ‘And where’s the cell?’

  ‘It’s the longest,’ Grauber moaned, ‘and the cell’s the first door on the right in the basement’ Then he slumped forward.

  While von Hohenlaub stood over Grauber. Gregory dashed downstairs. His hand was shaking so that he could hardly get the key in the lock of the cell door. At last he managed it. The cell was in pitch-darkness.

  For an agonising moment he fumbled for the light switch. As it clicked on he saw Erika. She was sitting there on a wooden bench. As she turned her face up to him he almost fainted with relief. From dead white it flushed to sudden radiance, and it was unscarred.

  Springing up, she flung her arms about his neck, and pressed her cold cheek to his as she murmured: ‘Gregory, my darling—my darling.’

  With a supreme effort he suppressed a cry of pain as her full weight came upon his wounded shoulder. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he buried his face in her neck, and stammered: ‘You’re safe—thank God you’re safe! I—I thought that devil had tortured you.’

  She shook her head. ‘He would have done so, but he had no time. He spent twenty minutes trying to get things out of me, then he had to go off to his banquet. Before he went he swore that if I wouldn’t talk when he got back he’d make me. But was the Putsch successful? Have we won?’

  ‘They’re still fighting. God alone knows how it will end. But quick, dearest, we must get out of this!’

  He hurried her upstairs to the hall, and said to von Hohenlaub: ‘Can you run us round to the Wilhelmstrasse?’

  Von Hohenlaub smiled his congratulations to Erika on her escape, then turned to Gregory. ‘I think I’d best remain here with our prisoner. I promised him my protection, and if we take him out into the street again a mob may notice his uniform. If that happens they’ll take him off us and hang him to the nearest lamp-post. You can take my car if you like, though.’

  ‘Thanks; and thanks a thousand times for all you’ve done.’ Gregory took von Hohenlaub’s hand and wrung it. ‘Best of luck with the Putsch, and long life to a new and better Germany!’

  He gave one glance at Grauber, who was sitting whimpering on the hall floor with his back against the wall, and pushed Erika out of the front door. In passing the hall, he had caught sight of the clock, and it was twenty-five minutes to eleven.

  It was Wednesday, November the 8th, a date that would for ever be fixed in his memory, but all the week he had had it in mind as one of the nights when the gallant, unknown American operated his secret transport system and ran British agents out of Germany.

  The taxi was supposed to wait on its corner between half-past ten and a quarter to eleven. They would just have time to catch it if, in this night of riot and bloodshed, it were there.

  With von Hohenlaub’s cheerful cry of ‘Good luck to you! Come and see us again when it’s all settled!’ ringing in his ears, Gregory ran Erika down the steps and out to the waiting car. The chauffeur took Gregory’s directions, and with Erika beside him in the back of the car slid away from the kerb.

  Fighting was still in progress. It would last all night, and probably continue for several days, Gregory reckoned. The staccato clatter of the machine-guns and the spasmodic bursts of rifle-fire were punctuated by the dull thud of shells.

  At last the car pulled up. Gregory pressed a note into the chauffeur’s hand and helped Erika out. With a sigh of thankfulness he saw a stationary taxi just ahead of them. Going up to it he asked the driver:

  ‘Are you waiting for Herr Cornelius Vanderhoorst?’

  ’Ja. Sind sie ein Freund des Herren?’ replied the man.

  ‘I’m Number One,’ said Gregory, ‘and this lady’s with me.’

  ‘That’s swell.’ The driver’s voice changed at once to rich, homely American. ‘I’ve been expecting you, else I wouldn’t have come out tonight, with all these palookas banging off their guns. Hop in, friend. The seats are free, and the sooner we’re out of this the better my old mother back home would be pleased if she knew what her sonny-boy was up to!’

  Gregory was careful to get into the taxi so that his sound arm should be next to Erika. She snuggled down at once with her head on his shoulder, and said dreamily:

  ‘I don’t mind where you’re taking me, beloved, but—just as a matter of curiosity—where are we going?’

  ‘Listen, my sweet,’ he said, pressing her to him. He did not wish to tell her of her uncle’s death yet, if he could avoid doing so, but he wanted to make the general situation clear to her. ‘Things didn’t go quite as they were planned. Hitler and Goebbels and several other leaders escaped a bomb that it was hoped would kill them tonight in Munich, and by now they’re probably hard at it organising a counter-Putsch down there in the south. A lot of the Sons of Siegfried got away from the Adlon and some of them ‘phoned their barracks, There are at least 30,000 of these blasted Nazis in Berlin, and owing to so many regiments being at the Front the garrison here is a long way below peace-time numbers. The Army have got tanks and guns, but the Nazis are better equipped for street-fighting, and have had more practice at it. We’ve done our bit, and it’s their show now, We can only pray that our friends come out on top.’

  ‘I see,’ she murmured doubtfully. ‘But you still haven’t told me where you are taking me.’

  ‘Out of it all, beloved. This is the first stage on the underground route to England. We may go through Denmark, Holland, Belgium—I don’t know. But it’s this way. If the Generals win, an Armistice will be declared within twenty-four hours, then
you’ll be able to return to Germany in safety whenever you want to. But if they don’t, a reign of terror will set in such as even the Nazis have never before instituted. All the officers who have been in this thing tonight and their friends and relatives will be hunted down and shot by the score. It’s a thousand to one that you’d be among the victims, and nothing in the world would induce me to risk that.’

  As the taxi twisted through the streets the sound of the shooting died in the distance; then only the dull thudding of the guns came faintly through the humming of the engine. When they were clear of the city the cab increased its pace slightly, and about twenty minutes later it pulled up at the side of the road some fifteen miles from the centre of Berlin.

  ‘We’re a bare kilo short of Seefeld, and you folks get out here,’ said the American. Then he pointed to his right. ‘Walk up that lane. It’s no more’n four hundred metres, but I don’t want this ‘bus seen out there, so I always drop friends on the main road. You’ll find a farmhouse on the left; it’s the only building hereabouts. Knock on the door and tell the old palooka who opens it that your car’s broken down. He’ll offer to put you up for the night, but you’ll reply that you’ve got to cover another 220 kilometres before the morning. Two-twenty, remember; the rest’ll be all right. So long, folks—best of luck!’

  Having thanked him warmly for his help Gregory and Erika left him and set off slowly, arm-in-arm, up the lane. They were now both very tired from the appalling strain they had been through, and although he tried not to show it Gregory was feeling very groggy. The blood he had lost had weakened him so much that he found it difficult even to put one foot in front of the other, but he set his teeth and struggled on because he did not want Erika to know that he had been wounded until they reached some place on the way to the frontier where they would be instructed to lie-up for a sleep.

  At the farmhouse they followed the directions they had been given, and a grey-haired farmer led them through into a kitchen sitting-room where a bright fire was burning. Before it stood a man who was dressed in airman’s kit. The room was lit only by a single oil lamp, and it was not until the second glance that Gregory recognised Flight-lieutenant Charlton.

  ‘By all that’s wonderful!’ he muttered. ‘Fancy finding you here! I thought we should have to spend days of anxiety being smuggled into Denmark or somewhere, but I suppose this means you’re going to fly us home?’

  Charlton laughed. ‘I’m one of three pilots on this secret landing game, but I’ve made eleven successful trips since I set you down outside Cologne two months ago, so if the luck holds I’ll have you safely back in London before morning. As you say “we” I take it the lady’s coming with us?’

  ‘No,’ said Erika suddenly, ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Gregory, his pain and tiredness instantly forgotten. ‘But you must! You said you would back there in Berlin just after we set off in the taxi.’

  ‘No,’ she repeated, ‘I never said I would. I never meant to come. I’m a German, and I must stick by my people. I can’t run away now the thing we’ve worked for has happened, and the whole future of my country is in the melting-pot. If the Generals win I’ll be perfectly all right, and as soon as an Armistice is declared I’ll fly over to London. But if things go wrong I’ve many friends, and I must stand by them as they will stand by me. I’ll go to ground and hide from the Nazis somehow. No matter how long the war lasts I’ll never think of anyone but you until we meet again, and we will meet somehow, somewhere, in the future.’

  ‘Darling, you must come, you must!’ he pleaded wildly. ‘I can’t leave you here. If you won’t, there’s only one thing for it; I shall stay here with you.’

  ‘You will not!’ With unexpected strength she suddenly seized and gripped his shoulders, staring straight into his face. ‘You’ve done your job magnificently, and now you’re going home. If I let you stay you might have to remain in hiding for months or years. It’s much easier for a woman to conceal herself in a country that’s at war than it is for an able-bodied man, and for my sake you mustn’t risk being caught or shot. I love you, Gregory. I love you more, even, than I loved Hugo—much more. I know that now I’ve got to lose you. I’m still young in body, but oh, so terribly old in experience, and that’s how I know I’ll never love anyone again but you. I’ll follow you anywhere in the wide world you like to ask me, but not till the war is over.’

  As she spoke a great pain was stabbing violently down into his chest from where her right hand gripped his shoulder. The dimly-lit room went dark, her lovely face blurred and faded. His knees suddenly gave under him. Charlton jumped from his place by the fire and just managed to catch him.

  Erika glimpsed the palm of her hand in the lamplight. Her grip had caused the blood to seep through Gregory’s greatcoat on to it.

  ‘Lieber Gott!’ she cried. ‘He’s wounded!’

  ‘I’ll get some warm water,’ said the grey-haired farmer, ‘while you take his coat off. Then we’ll bathe and dress his wound before he starts on his journey.’

  ‘That’s it,’ added Charlton. ‘He’ll soon come round. He’s only fainted.’

  Erika held up her hand quickly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. It’s only a flesh-wound in his shoulder. Quick! Take him out to the plane while he’s still unconscious! I’ve been puzzling my wits for the past half-hour how to get him out of the country without me. This is a heaven-sent chance, as I’ll never be able to persuade him to go once he comes round again.’

  Charlton nodded and, stooping, lifted Gregory in his arms. With the help of the farmer he carried the limp body out to the waiting plane and placed it in one of the passenger seats.

  As the engine started up Erika was crying softly. Another moment and the plane was racing across an open field. It lifted into the darkness, and she was alone with the farmer.

  When Gregory came to he was thousands of feet above Northern Germany. At first he did not realise what had happened, but his greatcoat had fallen open, and on raising his hand it came in contact with the Iron Cross that General Count von Pleisen had pinned upon his breast; Full consciousness then came back to him.

  He knew that he had won and lost and won again. He had won through with his mission, which might yet bring a speedier peace to the tortured world through the slaughter of so many heads of the Gestapo. He had lost a place in heaven formed by the arms of the strange, courageous, beautiful woman, Erika von Epp, who had had many lovers. But he had won her heart and would carry it with him like a glorious beacon, through the darkness to the brighter day on which Peace would reunite them.

  A Note on the Author

  DENNIS WHEATLEY

  Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world's best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.

  Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.

  His first book, The Forbidden Territory, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming’s James Bond stories.

  During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.

  Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.

  Discover books by Dennis Wheatley published by Blooms
bury Reader at

  www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley

  Duke de Richleau

  The Forbidden Territory

  The Devil Rides Out

  The Golden Spaniard

  Three Inquisitive People

  Strange Conflict

  Codeword Golden Fleece

  The Second Seal

  The Prisoner in the Mask

  Vendetta in Spain

  Dangerous Inheritance

  Gateway to Hell

  Gregory Sallust

  Black August

  Contraband

  The Scarlet Impostor

  Faked Passports

  The Black Baroness

  V for Vengeance

  Come into My Parlour

  The Island Where Time Stands Still

  Traitors’ Gate

  They Used Dark Forces

  The White Witch of the South Seas

  Julian Day

  The Quest of Julian Day

  The Sword of Fate

  Bill for the Use of a Body

  Roger Brook

  The Launching of Roger Brook

  The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

  The Rising Storm

  The Man Who Killed the King

  The Dark Secret of Josephine

  The Rape of Venice

  The Sultan’s Daughter

  The Wanton Princess

  Evil in a Mask

  The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware

  The Irish Witch

  Desperate Measures

  Molly Fountain

  To the Devil a Daughter

  The Satanist

  Lost World

  They Found Atlantis

  Uncharted Seas

  The Man Who Missed the War

  Espionage

  Mayhem in Greece

  The Eunuch of Stamboul

  The Fabulous Valley

  The Strange Story of Linda Lee

  Such Power is Dangerous

  The Secret War

  Science Fiction

  Sixty Days to Live

  Star of Ill-Omen

  Black Magic