The Black Baroness gs-4

by Dennis Wheatley

  fast walking he came to an empty, boarded-up plot between two houses so, having given a hasty glance round to see that he was not observed, he pushed the suitcase through a gap in the fence and hurried on.

  Outside the town he got on to the Bruges road as, in view of the fact that Antwerp in the north had fallen days before and that the situation to the south was so obscure, Bruges-Ostend seemed the most likely line of retreat for the Belgian Royal Party. The German columns were still trundling westward but nobody took any notice of him as here and there other civilians were walking along the road or standing in front of their cottages watching the seemingly inexhaustible forces of the invader.

  After he had covered about three miles, shells from the Allies' batteries began to pitch on to the road and into the fields on either side of it. The German column was then broken by its transport officers into sections with a two-hundred-yard gap between each so that the sections could be rushed one at a time through the zones in which the shells were bursting. As he advanced still further the column seemed to dissolve altogether; infantry and artillery units deployed into the fields or turned up side-tracks while only tanks continued down the highway. At the entrance to a shattered village he was halted by a patrol so he produced his German passport and said that he was an Intelligence Officer going forward in civilian clothes with the intention of penetrating the British lines and securing such information as he could about their strength and battery positions.

  This statement proved to be a bad break as it transpired that the Germans were not up against the British in this sector, but the Belgians, and a suspicious sergeant insisted on holding him until an officer could question him further.

  On being taken before a young Captain, Gregory endeavoured to lie his way out of the difficulty by saying that he had come direct from Corps Headquarters where they had definite information that certain British units had been moved up into that area during the night.

  The Captain denied this and looked as if he were going to become extremely troublesome but Gregory was on the top of his form again. He put on his most authoritative Colonel-Baron manner and declared that for the present purposes it did not in the least matter whether British or Belgians were holding that sector of the line. What did matter was that he should get through as quickly as possible so that he could assess their strength himself, and that if he were delayed in his mission the Corps Commander would hold the Captain responsible. At this threat, delivered with icy Prussian arrogance, the young officer caved in and allowed him to proceed on his way.

  He could, he knew, have avoided such potentially dangerous encounters by having retained his Colonel's uniform, but he had felt that he might have great difficulty in finding any suitable place in which to change into civilian clothes in broad daylight when he reached no-man's-land and, although he might have succeeded in getting himself quietly taken prisoner by the British or the Belgians, to advance into the Allies' lines dressed as a German officer was positively asking to be shot on sight; so he had preferred to face the trouble of satisfying any German patrol who chose to hold him up. In the next mile he was challenged four more times, but his passport as Colonel-Baron von Lutz and his impeccable German got him through on each occasion.

  The sunny landscape now presented a most misleading appearance. The road stretched away empty towards the horizon. Not a soul nor any sign of human activity was to be seen on either side of it except for the occasional flash of a camouflaged gun or the puff of smoke from a shell-burst; yet Gregory knew that the countryside was alive with men lying in ditches and concealed trenches. For the last hour he had been following the roadside ditch and a dozen times had had to fling himself down into it in order to escape shell fragments; but now he followed the tactics he had employed when crossing the battle-zone between Uccle and Brussels, going boldly forward in the centre of the road, except when it was positively dangerous to do so, and making himself as conspicuous as possible. After fifteen minutes' swift, and distinctly nerve-racking, walk he crossed a low ridge and drew level with some bushes. Suddenly a voice with a strong Lancashire accent cried:

  'Hi, lad, coom 'ere an' giv' an account o' thyself!'

  Switching round he saw that a British Tommy was covering him with a rifle. The man had not expected that his words would be understood, as he naturally imagined Gregory to be a Belgian, but his tone and attitude conveyed his meaning clearly enough. To the soldier's intense surprise Gregory replied: 'Ay, lad, I'll coom quietly if thou'llst take me to Colonel.'

  'Ba goom!' The astounded Tommy grinned at three companions who had risen beside him to peer over the bushes. ' 'E coomes from Lancashire.'

  'Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a Londoner,' Gregory smiled. 'I'm an Intelligence Officer and I want to see your Colonel as quickly as possible.'

  The manner of the lad from Lancashire immediately changed to friendly respect and joining Gregory on the road he accompanied him another quarter of a mile along it until they reached a small wood.

  Concealed in the wood lay a company headquarters and the Captain, having had a few words with Gregory, attached a runner to him to take him back to battalion headquarters.

  Having covered half a mile with his new guide, during which they availed themselves of all the cover they possibly could to avoid being machine-gunned by German aircraft which had suddenly arrived overhead, they reached a barn inside which a Colonel and his adjutant were seated at a rickety table studying a map. Gregory said that he had just come through the enemy lines after having spent over a week in Brussels so he wished to make a report upon what he had seen of the enemy's activities there.

  The Colonel replied that such information would be much more useful to Divisional Intelligence than to himself. Gregory agreed, but he spent ten minutes telling the Colonel all he could of the disposition of the German forces immediately opposite to him; then with yet another guide he set off once more.

  Some way further on they had to cross a slightly higher ridge and, on looking back, Gregory could see the whole of the local battle-front spread out before him. Shells were bursting much more frequently now on both sides of no-man's-land and away to the right a German attack was developing. He could make out about thirty tanks, like huge fast-moving slugs, bumping their way over hedges and ditches. As he watched several of them were suddenly obscured by splashes of flame and clouds of smoke. A British battery had got their range and was giving it to them hot and strong. In spite of his anxiety to be on his way he felt that he must stay to witness the end of the action and five minutes later, when the smoke had cleared, he saw that a dozen of the German tanks had stopped and were burning fiercely while the others had turned tail and were hurrying back to the shelter of a nearby wood; yet another German attack had been broken.

  On the far side of the hill they came to the remnants of a village which had been almost blasted to pieces and was still being shelled by the German heavies. Making a circle round it through the fields they regained the road on its far side and found there, under cover in an orchard, a number of small cars and motor-cycle combinations. The runner who was acting as Gregory's guide handed him over to one of the motor-cyclists, and when Gregory was comfortably installed in a side-car they set off at a good pace down the road. Soon they were passing other vehicles but their progress was delayed from time to time by having to dismount and take shelter from the machine-gunners of the German planes that were harassing the road; but a little over an hour later, having bumped along several curving side-roads, they pulled up at a small, white chateau.

  After a short wait an orderly took Gregory in to a Staff-Captain and he spent the next hour dictating a long report, giving all the particulars he could about the German forces that were operating in the neighbourhood of Brussels. When he had done the Staff-Captain asked him to wait for a moment and left the room. Ten minutes later he returned to say that the Divisional Commander would like to see him.

  'That's good,' Gregory smiled, standing up, 'as I was going to ask you if he c
ould spare a moment to see me.'

  The General looked a little tired but was as unhurried in his speech and as carefully groomed as though he were sitting in an office in Whitehall. For about a quarter of an hour he asked many penetrating questions, which Gregory answered clearly and briefly to the best of his ability. He then said:

  'You know, sir, it was a surprise to find that the British were holding this sector. The Germans are under the impression that they're fighting the Belgians up here.'

  The General nodded. 'That's quite understandable. Until early yesterday we were holding the line of the Scheldt, but the Belgians received such a terrific hammering that they were driven pell-mell out of Ghent; which exposed our flank. We had to retire to positions on the Lys and my division was sent north to support the Belgian left only last night.'

  'What sort of view do you take of things, sir?' Gregory asked.

  'They might be worse.' The General smiled a little thinly. 'Our men are proving magnificent. Nine out of ten of them have never seen active service before; but they're behaving like veterans. The trouble is the French having let us down so badly in the south and the enormous superiority which the Germans have in numbers. At Oudenarde, yesterday, where there was the hardest fighting that we've so far seen in the war, we estimated that the Germans had a superiority of at least four to one in men and more than that in tanks and guns. But I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me now because I have a lot to do.'

  Gregory stood up at once. 'As you've gathered, sir, my job is Intelligence, and it's of the utmost importance that I should reach King Leopold's headquarters at the earliest possible moment. Can you tell me where they are situated now?'

  The General frowned. 'It's being kept highly secret, because the poor fellow is being bombed so badly.

  The same applies to Lord Gort's headquarters. These damned Fifth Columnists seem to smell us out wherever we go; almost before we've got our papers unpacked the bombers come over on information received from their spies. No, I'm afraid I can't tell you that.'

  'Just as you like, sir, but the King's life may depend on it,' Gregory lied quietly. 'There's a plot against him, and if I don't get there in time we may all have reason to regret it.'

  By the General's expression he saw that the trick was working, so he added: 'Naturally, it's up to you to take every precaution, and I can't offer you any real proof that I am not a German spy myself but...'

  'That's just the trouble,' the General cut in frankly. "The information you've brought in checks with what we know already or suspect, so naturally one's inclined to accept you at your own valuation. But you have no credentials and admit yourself that you're not operating in any of the M.I. services; so you can hardly expect me to trust you with an important military secret.'

  Gregory smiled. 'I was about to say, sir, that there must be some things few German agents could possibly know; for instance, how the rooms are arranged in some of our West-End clubs, the best years for vintage port, the etiquette of the hunting field, and what takes place during a levee at St. James's Palace. If you care to test me out with a few questions of that kind I think you'll find you can satisfy yourself that I'm all right.'

  The General accepted the suggestion and for a few minutes he fired questions at Gregory until they found that they had several mutual acquaintances, details about whose idiosyncrasies and relatives brushed away the General's lingering hesitation, so he said: 'Well, as far as I know, King Leopold is now at Ostend, but more than that I can't tell you.'

  'Thanks. Now, how d'you suggest that I should get there?'

  'If the matter is as urgent as you say, I'd better lend you a car and a driver.'

  'I'd be very grateful if you could, sir.'

  'Come with me and I'll fix it up.' The General led Gregory outside and handed him over to the divisional transport officer, who waved him away ten minutes later.

  It was now three o'clock in the afternoon and as Ostend was only some thirty miles away they should have got there under the hour, but the journey took three times that time, as the German planes barely left the traffic on the road alone for more than ten consecutive minutes, and after they had passed through Bruges they had to come down to walking pace because refugees from the city, which was now being bombed almost hourly, blocked the roads once more.

  In Ostend the driver was going to set Gregory down on the promenade in front of the big hotels, many of which had now been turned by the Belgians into temporary Government offices; but he told the man that he would require the car until he located King Leopold's headquarters. A long and tiring inquiry then ensued.

  The King was not at his Palace on the Plage and, whether they knew the situation of the King's headquarters or not, officers and officials denied all knowledge of it; so Gregory was reduced to driving round the town looking for groups of military motor-cars, on the theory that wherever a number of military cars are gathered together there is a headquarters. His main worry was that even if he succeeded in finding the right place, unless he actually happened to see the King through a window—which was most unlikely—everybody would deny that the King was there, so he might go on all night searching in vain; but he hoped that by the cars outside the place he might be able to establish whether the King was within.

  After they had combed the town for an hour and a half unsuccessfully he ordered the driver to try the roads first to the north and then to the south, as far as the nearest villages upon each; and his first choice proved lucky. Some distance to the left of the road, about three miles to the north of Ostend and just at the entrance to the little inland village of Breedene, he noticed several cars lined up outside the gate of a big private house standing in its own grounds, so he told the chauffeur to drive down the side-road towards them. One of the cars was a complete give-away; on its bonnet it carried the Belgian Royal Standard. That was quite enough to inform him that he had located the King. The next thing was to find Erika.

  Ordering the car back to the main road he stopped it there, got out, thanked the driver and sent him off; then he turned towards the houses. The light was now failing so he put his best foot forward and kept a sharp look-out to right and left as he hurried into the centre of the village to see if it contained a small hotel or pension. He had just drawn level with an epicerie when a familiar figure came out of the door carrying four bottles of wine—it was Kuporovitch. And with a shout of relief Gregory bounded forward to greet the amiable Russian.

  Kuporovitch turned and, recognising him, in spite of his grubby appearance from having spent much of the day crouching in ditches, hailed him with delight. Five minutes later they entered a small house a hundred yards down the street and Gregory had Erika in his arms.

  For half an hour they sat in a garishly-furnished little ground-floor sitting-room, holding hands, as they told each other of their experiences and narrow escapes during the past sixteen unforgettable days, while Kuporovitch remained discreetly withdrawn in an upper chamber; but they had only given each other an outline of their doings when the woman of the house came in to lay the table for supper.

  Over the meal, which Kuporovitch shared with them, Gregory went into further details of his adventures but it was not until they had finished and their buxom landlady had cleared away that Gregory asked if he had been right in assuming that Erika was on the track of the Black Baroness.

  She nodded. 'Yes. She is here in Breedene, and she's staying at the Chateau with the King.'

  'That's bad,' said Gregory quickly.

  'It is even worse than you think,' Kuporovitch cut in, and Erika added:

  'Yes, Gregory; we're really up against it this time. Leopold has been driven half-crazy by sixteen days and nights of perpetual bombing. If we can't do something about it, I believe that in another twenty-four hours he will surrender, and Belgium will be out of the war.'

  CHAPTER 19

  A Night of Terror

  'God!' exclaimed Gregory. 'But if the Belgian Army lays down its arms the northern flank of the B.E.F.
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  will be left naked in the air.'

  Kuporovitch nodded. 'They are already outflanked in the south, where the Germans have reached Lille and St. Omer. If the Belgian Army cease fire the British will find themselves fighting on three fronts and will have no alternative but to abandon the coast they are defending and cut their way through, back to the main French Army.'

  Gregory looked at Erika. 'Tell me what's been going on. I suppose the Baroness has been working on Leopold to make him chuck his hand in?'

  'That's it; and I've been working on Leopold to make him stay the course.'

  'You?'

  Erika smiled. 'Yes. I'm Leopold's new girl-friend.'

  Gregory made a grimace. 'I'm not at all certain that I like that. It's trying my patriotism a bit high.'

  'You stupid darling!' Erika laughed. "The poor man is much too occupied with events and overwrought by what has happened to his country to make love to anyone; but it seems that he likes blondes. It was the Baroness's idea that his mind could be taken off the war for a little each evening if he was removed from his advisers for an hour or two into the more restful atmosphere of female society, and I put in for the job of the female. But, of course, the black lady's real intention was that while he was out of the clutch of his patriotic General Staff I should instil sweet poison into his ears and persuade him that he would serve his country better by throwing in the sponge.'