V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  On Mère Querailles’s return the painful business of treating the injuries began. Like most good farmers, Queraille knew something of anatomy from his experience with animals, and, having examined Kuporovitch’s ankle, he declared that it was not broken but badly sprained. Cold compresses were put on the swelling, and it was tightly strapped up: Gregory’s fingers were set and bound in splints, their other cuts and abrasions were bathed, cleaned and bandaged, then they stretched themselves out on two of the wire shelves. The sacking screens were replaced, so that no one casually entering the loft would have any idea that two men were sleeping there, and the Queraille family wished them good-night.

  Their sleep in the hay-wagon had been quite a short one, so they were ready enough for more, and very soon dropped off again, not to wake until full light of morning was filtering in on them through the screens of sacking.

  As soon as they wakened they began to take a fresh stock of their injuries and found that they were in exceedingly poor shape. Apart from Gregory’s fingers and Stefan’s ankle, the faces of both of them were terribly cut and swollen, and they had the most hideous purple bruises on a dozen different parts of their bodies. They knew that they were very lucky to be alive at all, but even so it annoyed them to think that for some days at least they would be fit for nothing. To move at all was torture, and both of them were running temperatures.

  They were still commiserating with each other when they heard footsteps on the wooden stairs, and peeping from behind their screens saw that it was Madame Queraille who had come to visit them. She was carrying a heavy tray with a steaming breakfast, but neither of them felt very much like food at the moment, although it was now many hours since they had eaten.

  When they told her how wretched they felt she redressed their hurts and left them there in the restful semi-darkness of the loft to doze or sleep again.

  In the afternoon she returned with some hot broth and a fat, shrewd-faced Roman Catholic priest, who introduced himself as Father Xavier. While they were sipping the broth he told them that he had heard about the frightful manhandling they had received and their subsequent rescue, and he congratulated them upon having got away with their lives. He then asked if they were willing to tell him their reason for landing in France.

  Kuporovitch said: ‘We both have a special devotion to Saint Denis, Father, and wish to kneel again before his shrine in Paris.’

  ‘I thought that might be the case,’ smiled Father Xavier, ‘but it was possible that you had private reasons for landing on Henri Denoual’s island. I, too, have a special devotion to Saint Denis, so it will be a pleasure for me to make arrangements for your journey.’

  ‘We’re very anxious to reach Paris as soon as possible…’ began Gregory eagerly.

  ‘No doubt, my son, no doubt,’ the priest cut him short in a soothing tone, ‘but Mère Queraille here tells me that neither of you is fit to travel. With the help of the good God I think that I can get you safely to Paris, but it is only sensible that before you face new exertions you should have regained at least a reasonable degree of your strength. Therefore, for the time being, I have decided you will remain here, where there is little danger of your being discovered, and you can be well looked after.’

  He spoke with such quiet firmness that they knew argument was useless. They knew, too, that, anxious as they were to see Lacroix, they would be little use for anything until they had recovered from the worst effects of the mauling they had been through.

  Father Xavier went on gently: ‘You will stay here for a week at least, but more probably it will be ten days before I consent to your removal. Now, while you remain lying down we will offer up a short prayer of thanksgiving for your deliverance and for your speedy recovery.’

  With Madame Queraille beside him he knelt down on the floor of the loft and for several moments prayed most earnestly for France, for all who served her, and that God might strengthen the hearts and the limbs of all those, wherever they might be, who were striving for freedom from the emissaries of hell who had brought such misery and oppression upon the peoples of Europe.

  Having finished, he produced two little holy medals and hung these round the necks of the invalids. Then he left them.

  For the next week the two sick men did little but sleep and rest. The jovial but slow-spoken farmer looked in occasionally to see how they were getting on; his wife, who was much more talkative and a dear, motherly soul, brought them plain, well-cooked meals each morning and evening and treated their hurts.

  By the eighth day of their stay in the apple-loft all their minor injuries had ceased to trouble them. Gregory could use his fingers again, provided he was careful not to strain them, and only Kuporovitch’s ankle remained as a serious handicap to any new activity, although he could now get about quite swiftly with the aid of two sticks. Much as they liked each other’s company, both of them were beginning to get distinctly bored with their enforced confinement, and knowing the urgency of the work that there was for them to do they were most anxious to proceed on their journey. It was, therefore, with considerable relief that on the afternoon of the 24th they heard the voice of Father Xavier as he came up the wooden stairs behind Mère Queraille.

  He greeted them kindly, examined Kuporovitch’s ankle and gave them a good looking-over, immediately after which Gregory asked him if it would be possible for them to be sent on to Paris that night.

  The Father said that he would now delay them no longer than necessary, but a couple of days would be required to make adequate arrangements before they could set out.

  At first, Kuporovitch had thought that, just as the Little Father of the Vieux Logis had turned out to be Colonel Lacroix, so Father Xavier was another secret agent who was using the cassock as a disguise; but the prayers with which the Father had terminated his first visit had clearly shown that he was actually a Catholic priest. To the Russian it seemed strange that any man who was so deeply religious should concern himself in worldly affairs which at first sight had no bearing on religious matters, and he asked the priest what had caused him to take an active part in the anti-Nazi conspiracy.

  Father Xavier looked a little surprised and said: ‘For you to ask that, my son, shows that you cannot be fully aware of the evil thing which we are fighting. This war is not like the last, or any of the old wars, where one country fought another only for territorial gain and self-aggrandisement. It is a vast civil war, in which the people of all countries have taken sides and each group is seeking to force an ideology and way of life upon the other group, which is unwilling to accept it.

  ‘In the last war all Frenchmen were for France, all Italians for Italy, and all Germans for Germany—the German clergy, for example, both Catholic and Protestant, were wholeheartedly behind their Government—but that is by no means the case today. The Nazis and the Fascists have started a new religion, in which there is no God but the State. It had already been accepted in peace-time by varying proportions of the population in every country, and now, by force of arms, the Dictators are endeavouring to secure its acceptance throughout the whole world. If they succeed mankind will not only lose their political liberties, but also their right to worship God in the manner of their own choosing. It is not only the Jews that Hitler persecutes, but men of every creed who refuse to bow the knee before him. Should he ever succeed in achieving final victory the reign of Antichrist will ensue. The Nazis’ state has no place for Christianity in any form, and if Hitler once became all-powerful he would close every church and chapel in Europe, as he has already closed the synagogues.

  ‘For eight years now German children have been deprived, as far as it lay within the Nazis’ power, of proper religious instruction. In a Hitler-dominated world there would be no baptism in the name of God, no confirmation, no Holy Communion, and Mein Kampf would be the new Bible. How could I, or any right-thinking priest, remain a pacifist knowing that my faith, and the faith of all Christian men and women, whatever their creed, must die unless Hitler-Antichrist can be des
troyed?’

  ‘Of course, you’re right, Father,’ Gregory agreed; ‘but the pity of it is that so comparatively few people seem to realise that. Many of our clergymen at home in England are splendid fellows and have done magnificent work during the air raids; but many more particularly among the higher-ups, don’t seem to have the faintest idea yet what we’re really up against.’

  Father Xavier shook his head sadly. ‘I am grieved to hear that. Here, praise be to God, it is very different. Our Breton people have always been stalwart children of the Church, and all of them know that not only their liberty but their Faith is at stake in this hideous conflict. In the whole of Brittany, outside the towns, I’m certain that there’s not a single man or woman who would betray you, and when you were rescued by the fishermen of Saint Jacut you must have seen for yourself how gladly they were willing to risk anything for the sake of helping the enemies of Hitler. The people here look to their priests for leadership, and of what use is a priest to his flock in times like these if he does nothing but stand in his church on Sundays to celebrate a few Masses? It is only proper that we should not only comfort the people in their afflictions but use any wits which God may have given us to direct the fight for the overthrow of the legions of Evil.’

  ‘We’ve been terribly worried about those good fellows at Saint Jacut,’ Gregory said. ‘I do hope the Germans haven’t carried out any reprisals on them.’

  ‘No,’ smiled the Father. ‘The Good God does not leave those who pray to Him for protection unanswered. There are many drownings at sea in these days, and the morning after your rescue the bodies of two sailors were caught by the fishermen in their nets. They were able to take these ashore and, as they were past recognition, pass them off as the bodies of you two, saying that they had dredged them up from the creek. The Germans were very suspicious about the “accident” and meant to hold a full enquiry, but they had no real evidence, and on the production of these two bodies they decided to consider the affair as closed.’

  They talked on with Father Xavier for a little about the war, then, promising to arrange for their journey to Paris as soon as possible, he left them.

  Two afternoons later, on Saturday 26th, they were warned by Mère Queraille that they were to leave that night. Soon after dark Father Xavier arrived with a tall, thin, grey-haired woman dressed in a dark blue uniform, whom he introduced as Madame Idlefonse, explaining that while France was in the war she had driven an ambulance for the Army, and that now she still drove her ambulance upon more secret business.

  She was a quiet, practical woman, and she told them at once that one of them would have to play the part of the patient and the other of the hospital orderly who would sit inside the ambulance. It was best that whichever of them spoke French the more fluently should act as orderly. That fitted in very well, as Gregory’s French was almost good enough for him to pass as a Frenchman, and, since Kuporovitch’s ankle was still bound up, he was already equipped for the role of patient. Madame Idlefonse provided the one with an orderly’s white linen suit and the other with thick flannel pyjamas; then they were left to change.

  When they had done so, carrying their own things made up in bundles, they followed the others downstairs. In the barn they all knelt in prayer, and Father Xavier asked a blessing on their journey; then the goodbyes were said, the two friends expressing the deepest possible gratitude to the Querailles for having hidden and taken such good care of them.

  It was not until some days later that they learnt that on October the 20th, three days after they had reached the farm, an order had been promulgated throughout the length and breadth of Occupied France that the death penalty would be imposed upon any French subjects found harbouring British nationals; but these stouthearted Bretons had never breathed a word about it lest they might embarrass their guests.

  The sky was overcast, and the moon, now a week past full, not yet risen. Kuporovitch was thinking only that with luck he would soon see Madeleine again. Gregory had known Paris in its heyday and he had not seen it since its fall, so his thoughts were a little sombre as the ambulance took the dark road to the dark city.

  11

  Coffin for One

  When they drove out of the farmyard a gentle rain was falling, but Madame Idlefonse kept the ambulance going at a good steady pace in spite of the slush and bad patches which occur every few miles on all French roads. Occasionally they struck long stretches of pavé which slowed them down a little, as its bumpy surface played the devil with even a well-sprung vehicle like the ambulance; but, apart from that and stopping every hour or so to smoke a cigarette and stretch her legs, Madame Idlefonse drove on into the night as though she were part of her well-regulated machine. Between twelve and one in the morning she told them through the driver’s hatch that they had accomplished half their journey and were running into Alençon.

  Just outside the town she drew up at a small all-night café, and, although there was little choice in the refreshments it offered, the hot weak coffee and tough crusty rolls that they secured were very welcome. After half an hour’s rest, Madame Idlefonse declared herself ready to resume the journey, and they drove on to Chartres, where they stopped again to fill up with petrol. At half past six in the morning they passed through Versailles, which was just waking to a rainy depressing day, and soon after seven they reached the heart of Paris.

  When the ambulance pulled up and Gregory got out he saw that they were in a street that he did not recognise, on both sides of which were old-fashioned, tall, narrow houses. Madame Idlefonse, who still appeared remarkably fresh in spite of the many hours’ hard driving she had put in, told him to ring the bell of the house opposite, and the door was opened to him by a pretty girl in nurse’s uniform.

  Immediately she saw the ambulance she smiled at him and, having asked him to wait a moment, fetched a tall dark young man in a white linen jacket similar to the one which Gregory was wearing. The two of them then went out to carry in Kuporovitch on his stretcher for appearances’ sake, although he could have perfectly well got up and walked.

  Throwing himself into the part of a stretcher-case, Kuporovitch closed his eyes tightly and lay with his mouth open, feigning unconsciousness. The nurse directed them into a waiting-room on the ground floor, where they transferred him from the stretcher on to a sofa. They took the stretcher back to the ambulance, and with a wave of her hand Madame Idlefonse drove away.

  On re-entering the house the tall young man disappeared into the back of the premises, and the nurse asked Gregory to remain in the waiting-room with Kuporovitch while she told the Matron of their arrival.

  It was evident that the place was a nursing-home which was being used by Lacroix and his friends for cover, and Gregory mooched idly round the uninspiring room looking casually at the covers of the out-of-date periodicals spread on the table and the rather depressing black and white prints of the Victorian period which hung on the wall. His back was turned to the door when he heard it open. Next second Kuporovitch, who had opened his eyes once they were left alone, gave a huge shout of delight, and swinging round Gregory saw that the Matron was none other than Sister Madeleine.

  Springing up from his sofa Kuporovitch seized both her hands in his and kissed them wildly, while with equal surprise and delight she was smiling upon him as though he were a favourite child who had just come back to her after a long absence. Gregory stood grinning in the background, and when the Russian’s transports had somewhat subsided he shook hands with his ex-nurse, as he said:

  ‘What a grand surprise to find you at the end of our journey!’

  ‘It’s a lovely surprise for me, too,’ she laughed. ‘I was warned to expect two new “patients” this morning, but I had no idea who they would be.’

  ‘And to think that you are the Matron here!’ chuckled Kuporovitch. ‘When the nurse went to fetch you I expected to see a brisk, middle-aged lady with grey hair and pince-nez.’

  Madeleine laughed again. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I’m a bit young for t
he part; but, you see, this place isn’t really a nursing-home, although we run it as much like one as we can. It was Colonel Lacroix’s idea, and although he now has quite a number of helpers who can act as nurses and room-maids, he thought it important that the Matron at least should be someone with a professional knowledge of nursing, and I happen to be the only woman available to fill the bill.’

  ‘It was a darn’ good idea.’ Gregory nodded. ‘You can fake all the temperature charts and talk plausibly about the various ailments from which your patients are supposed to be suffering if the police pay the place a visit at any time.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Madeleine agreed, ‘and so far it’s worked very well. You see, most of our people do their work at night and need to sleep at least a part of the day in any case, so a nursing-home offers them just the right kind of cover. Ten out of my fifteen rooms are in use now, and nearly every night most of their occupants are out on a job; but in the daytime, if any Quisling paid us a visit, he would find all my “patients” neatly tucked up in bed with bottles, bandages and basins arranged tidily beside them.’

  ‘If we’d been here for the past ten days we could have given you some pretty authentic colour,’ Gregory grinned.

  Her face suddenly filled with concern. ‘Yes, you both look as though you’d been through an awful time. I’ve been terribly anxious about you, and I can hardly wait to hear about your journey. Come up to my room—it’s much more comfortable there, and I expect you’re hungry too, but breakfast should be ready soon.’

  At the back of the house on the third floor Madeleine had a pleasant little sitting-room of her own. The rest of the house was cold, as fuel was now becoming appallingly short in Paris, and gas was only allowed to be used for cooking; but she had a small oil-stove, and they warmed themselves round it.

  Twenty minutes slipped swiftly by as they told her of their crossing from England, and she related how the day after she and Kuporovitch had been arrested Lieutenant Ribaud had called on her to reassure her that when the Russian reached Vichy he would find himself in friendly hands. A week later Ribaud had called again to let her know that Kuporovitch had been sent on a special mission from which he might not return for some weeks, and to fix up another meeting for her with Lacroix. Soon afterwards arrangements had been made for the opening of the nursing-home, and from that time on she had been kept at it without a break, helping in the secret work that meant so much to her.