V for Vengeance

by Dennis Wheatley

  Baras came shouldering his way through the crowd towards them and said: ‘I’m terribly sorry about our two friends, but as they haven’t turned up I’m afraid we really must go now.’

  ‘No, no!’ Kuporovitch protested. ‘Give them a little longer. Even if there’s been an accident it’s unlikely that both of them would have been badly hurt, so the other will turn up to let us know what has happened.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ the ex-Deputy replied, ‘but we must adhere to our time-table.’

  ‘You’re quite all right for time,’ Gregory said firmly. ‘You can afford to give them another half-hour anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’ll wait until a quarter past,’ Baras conceded reluctantly: ‘but if they’re not here then we really must start.’

  It was already five past ten, and the next ten minutes seemed to go terribly quickly. Then Baras came across to them and said: ‘I’m sorry, but time’s up.’

  Again Gregory remonstrated: ‘It’s only a quarter past. As I said just now, you could well afford to give them till the half-hour.’

  The ex-Deputy shook his head, but Kuporovitch jumped up on a chair and, calling for silence, addressed the crowd.

  ‘My friends! I appeal to you in a great difficulty! Madeleine Lavallière and Pierre Ponsardin, two of our stoutest-hearted comrades, who have been with us from the beginning, have failed to reach this rendezvous. They should have been here at eight o’clock, but we have telephoned their house, and we know that it was not raided. They were quite free when they left to come here. We can only suppose that a street accident must have delayed them. They may be injured or they may have been detained for questioning in connection with one; but in any case it is almost certain that one or both of them will get here as soon as they can. If we start without them they will never be able to find us. The night is still young; so will you not give them a little longer in the hope that they may yet be able to join us before we set out?’

  Léon Baras’ booming orator’s voice rang out as that of the Russian ceased: ‘Messieurs et Mesdames, I am the leader of this party, and it is the order of our Chief that all here should obey me. I am as distressed as any of you can be at the non appearance of these two friends of ours, but I resent having my authority questioned. We were due to leave here at ten o’clock. I have already voluntarily delayed our departure on this account for twenty minutes. As your leader I say that we cannot now delay any longer.’

  ‘One minute,’ Gregory raised his voice. ‘None of us disputes the leadership of Monsieur Baras, but we are all free people here. We are fighters for Freedom. Again and again we have imperilled our lives in the cause of Freedom. Therefore I maintain that we have the right to decide the limitations of the authority which we are prepared to allow Monsieur Baras to exercise over us. I was partly responsible for making the plans for your escape, and I give you my word that by waiting here another twenty minutes or so you will not jeopardise it in the least. I cannot think that any of you would willingly leave Madeleine and Pierre, now homeless and without any refuge to which they may go in Paris, behind. Let’s have a show of hands. Those in favour of leaving our friends in the lurch!’

  ‘That’s not a fair way to put it!’ shouted Baras, as not a single hand went up.

  ‘Those in favour of hanging on here for another twenty minutes!’ shouted Gregory, and practically every person in the room raised a hand.

  ‘Thank you, friends, thank you!’ called Kuporovitch, as Gregory turned to Baras and said:

  ‘I’m terribly sorry about this. The last thing that I would do in the ordinary way is to dispute your authority. But I just had to secure this last chance for our friends.’

  Baras did not reply. With an angry scowl he turned his back and walked away.

  For the next ten minutes the crowd continued to stand and sit about, but it was quieter now. The nervous excitement which had animated the people at the thought of their coming adventure had subsided and given way to an uneasy tension.

  Gregory looked at the clock—ten minutes of the extra twenty he had gained had already slipped away, and he whispered to Kuporovitch: ‘It doesn’t look as though there’s much hope now, old chap. What do you intend to do?’

  ‘Why, stay here, of course! Madeleine’s bound to turn up some time.’

  ‘I’m afraid you must face it now that she may have been arrested.’

  ‘Then I’ll bribe or smash my way into every prison in Paris until I find her.’

  Gregory grinned. ‘I thought as much. Well, between us we may be able to get her out of trouble yet.’

  ‘No, you must go, Gregory. This is my affair.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear fellow! I was just hating the thought of those ten days in the bottom of that filthy barge, and I bet it’ll be all of that.’

  Kuporovitch shook his head. ‘No, Gregory, we mustn’t joke like this. The inside of that barge means safety, whereas for us the streets of Paris will now be a very different matter. After tonight the Germans and the Quisling police will redouble their guards and precautions everywhere. They’re certain to believe that there’s much more to this thing than what you gave them. Everybody will be under suspicion, and particularly stray people without jobs or a proper residence. You’ve blown Luc Ferrière’s place up yourself, remember, so we can’t go back into hiding there.’

  ‘You’re right about the difficulties that we’ve made for ourselves,’ said Gregory soberly. ‘But that’s all the more reason that you’ll need some help. It’s no good arguing. I’ve made up my mind to stick around anyhow.’

  They had hardly finished their whispered conversation when the main door of the room was suddenly thrown open, and the Professor’s manservant, who did not look like a manservant, stood there, his eyes wide and excited, his face a little white.

  ‘The police!’ he gasped. ‘They’re coming into the courtyard! There’s at least twenty of them!’

  Suddenly a cry went up from the far corner of the room. ‘We are betrayed! We are betrayed!’ And the whole crowd broke into a clamour.

  ‘Silence!’ thundered Baras. ‘Silence! Don’t be alarmed. All the windows of this house were fitted with steel shutters months ago, and the doors have special locks. It will take the police at least a quarter of an hour to break one of them in.’

  In spite of his reassuring words, the clamour grew. Again and again from various quarters of the room people shouted: ‘We have been trapped! We are betrayed! How can we get away now?’

  Even through the murmurs and excited shouting they could now hear the crashing of axes on wood and the ring of steel on steel as the police, who were evidently round the back of the house as well as at its front, strove to break in through one of the steel-curtained windows of the room.

  Suddenly a bearded man near Gregory turned, pointed at him and screamed shrilly: ‘It is the Englishman and the Russian! It is they who have betrayed us! We should have left here at ten o’clock—over half an hour ago. Léon Baras told us that; but these two succeeded in keeping us here until the police arrived.’

  Everyone was now staring at Gregory and Kuporovitch. Fists were raised, and angry faces thrust into theirs, as side by side they backed together towards the nearest wall. Baras forced his way towards them.

  ‘By God! I believe they’re right!’ he bellowed. ‘Ponsardin and the Lavallière girl were never intended to be in my party. That they were coming with us is just a story you put up. I expect they’re safely over the frontier by this time and haven’t the faintest idea of the dirty double-crossing use you made of their names.’

  ‘Kill the traitors, kill them!’ screamed a woman, and a roar went up from the mob which even drowned the battering of the police against the steel shutters.

  The two friends knew that their position was desperate. They had not the least idea what had gone wrong, as no mention of the Professor, or his house, had been on the list which Gregory had handed to von Geisenheim. In fact, he had meant to suggest to Kuporovitch that they should pass t
he night there in case Madeleine and Pierre turned up after all and, if not, use it as their headquaters while they hunted Paris for them. They had not an iota of proof to support their story. It looked as though another minute would see them torn limb from limb. Several of the Frenchmen had already pulled automatics from their pockets. Gregory knew that only instant action could save his friend and himself.

  Swinging round, he seized Baras by the lapel of his coat and yelled above the din: ‘You’re wrong—utterly wrong; but that doesn’t matter now. Your job is to get these people out of here, before the police break in. For God’s sake, tell them about the cellars, and get them down there while you still have the chance!’

  Baras was quick to see the sense of this argument. Jumping on to a chair he bawled for silence. As the shouting died down a little, he said in a lower voice: ‘Listen! Whether these two betrayed us I don’t know—we’ll deal with them later. All that matters for the moment is that we’ve got to get away from here.’

  ‘How, how?’ cried half a dozen panicky voices.

  ‘Silence!’ he implored. ‘Silence! Keep your heads and listen, unless you all want to see the inside of a Gestapo torture chamber! There’s an entrance from the cellars of this house into the catacombs. Surely you’re not such fools as to think we’d plan to take over half a hundred people down to those barges in omnibuses at this time of night! The catacombs were the road to safety in our original plan. I’ve got a map of them, so you needn’t be frightened that you’ll get lost. We’ll take these two fellows with us and sit in judgment on them when we reach the barge. Come on now! Follow me!’

  As he jumped off the chair Gregory and Kuporovitch were seized by half a dozen men near to them and hustled after him. To have put up any resistance at that moment would have been quite hopeless, so they allowed themselves to be pushed along, none too gently, into the hall.

  The little Professor was already standing there. He led them down the staircase to the basement and into a big cellar where a number of crates were stored. Pulling one of them aside, he uncovered a trapdoor which when opened revealed some old stone steps and an electric switch. The light was flicked on, and some of the men went down the trap. Gregory and Kuporovitch were pushed after them, and the rest of the crowd followed. The Professor came last, having operated a special contraption he had arranged for pulling the packing-case back over the trap when it had been shut.

  On reaching the bottom of the steps Gregory and Kuporovitch found themselves in one of the most extraordinary apartments they had ever seen. The catacombs were originally stone-quarries from which in ancient days the masons had hewn the material for constructing the principal buildings of early Paris; and their tunnels ran like a giant rabbit warren in all directions under that part of Paris which lies on the left bank of the Seine. Centuries later, in 1786, when it had been decided to build over many of the city’s old burial grounds, the bones and bodies had been collected and thrown at random into the catacombs, converting them into a vast charnel-house. In 1810, after the fury of the Revolution had spent itself, some attempt had been made to arrange the skulls and bones, and they are now stored in various galleries and compartments. It is said that altogether the remains of nearly six million persons are deposited there, but the people who first attempted to put them into some sort of order had the macabre idea of using them for decorative purposes, and a number of underground chapels were constructed out of these hideous materials.

  It was to one of these grim chapels that the escaping freedom fighters had descended from the Professor’s house, but it was clear that the chapel was no longer used for religious purposes. Against a fantastic background of human skulls, pelvises and whole skeletons, set upright in plaster, were ranged long benches, upon which stood retorts and other scientific instruments and impedimenta.

  One glance at them was enough to explain their presence to Gregory. The Professor evidently used this secret retreat under his house to manufacture time-bombs and the infernal machines for the saboteurs. The big chamber made a first-class laboratory, and the altar end of it had been fixed up like an office, with desk, filing cabinet, cupboards, and even a telephone, so that the Professor could be rung up when he was at work without bothering to go upstairs.

  As the last member of the party came down into the cellar Baras was studying his map under the central electric light which hung from the ceiling, while several other men crowded about him. Just at that moment the telephone bell rang.

  Instantly the murmur of conversation ceased, and everyone turned to stare at the instrument. There was something strange, sinister, frightening about the impatient shrilling of a modern telephone in that ancient crypt, with its weird and horrible wall decorations. No one moved forward to lift the receiver until the Professor, having closed the trap above securely, came down the steps, and walking over to his desk picked up the receiver quite calmly. He listened for a moment, then he looked at Kuporovitch and said: ‘It’s someone asking for you.’

  The Russian started forward, but the men who were holding him pulled him back while Baras, elbowing his way forward, took the instrument.

  There was a pause while everyone stared at him expectantly, then he exclaimed: ‘It is Mademoiselle Lavallière!’

  ‘There!’ cried Gregory triumphantly. ‘You see! She didn’t leave for Unoccupied France this morning; and the fact she’s still in Paris proves that it was not we who betrayed tonight’s meeting.’

  Baras looked a little abashed as he beckoned Kuporovitch forward; and, releasing their two captives, the nearest men began to mutter apologies.

  ‘Yes, this is Stefan speaking,’ Kuporovitch said into the mouthpiece. ‘What’s happened? Tell me quickly, but be careful what you say.’ There was another pause, then he turned to Gregory.

  ‘It was Pierre! The little swine tried to double-cross me. When they went upstairs to get their clothes on at seven o’clock he locked her in her room, and she’s only just managed to get out.’

  Gregory gave a swift nod. ‘Then it’s Pierre who gave away to the police the fact that we were all meeting at this house. Evidently he didn’t care how many of these people were sacrificed as long as you were caught so that he’d get the girl for himself. What the young fool doesn’t realise is that Luc Ferrière’s place will be raided some time tonight and that both he and Madeleine will fall into the hands of the Gestapo.’

  ‘We must go and get her!’ cried Kuporovitch.

  Gregory nodded again. ‘Ask her if she can be at the Café du Rhône in an hour’s time. If she can we’ll pick her up there.’

  Kuporovitch spoke again into the instrument. Then suddenly he swore; he had been cut off.

  In vain he jangled the rest; the line was definitely dead; so he rang the exchange and asked for Luc Ferrière’s number.

  Baras stepped forward and interposed: ‘Look here! I’m sorry we suspected you wrongly, but we dare not wait any longer, really. The police must have broken into the house by this time, and immediately they find it empty they’ll search the cellars for some secret way out. If they discover the trap before we’re clear there’ll be a fight and half our people will get shot or lose themselves in this maze of tunnels as they try to get away in the darkness. We simply must go now.’

  ‘All right!’ snarled Kuporovitch. ‘Go if you want to but leave this to me.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Baras persisted. ‘We have only one map of the catacombs, and I must keep that to lead these people out of them. If you don’t come with us you’ll never find your way out and probably die here.’

  ‘He’s right, Stefan,’ interposed Gregory quietly.

  ‘But if I can’t warn her the police may raid the place while we’re on our way there,’ Kuporovitch cried, frantic with anxiety.

  The Professor spoke with sudden firmness. ‘You must go at once. Long ago I made arrangements to blow up my house if it were ever raided by the Quisling police. Now, the firing of the mine I have laid will protect us from pursuit. Quick, off you go�
�all of you; or it will be too late.’

  Kuporovitch groaned; but Gregory seized him by the arm and dragged him away with the others as Baras led the way out of the chapel, map in one hand and torch in the other. The rest of the crowd struggled after him. Entering a high-arched tunnel, they hurried forward for about five hundred yards; then they heard an ear-shattering crack, followed by a long-echoing rumble, as the house caved in on its demolished foundations. Little flakes of stone fell from the roof under which they were passing, but soon there was no further sound except of their shuffling feet.

  As they stumbled on through what seemed mile after mile of long dark tunnels, occasionally intersected by lofty chambers, or cross-roads at which several tunnels met, the Russian cursed, swore, and almost wept alternately, declaring that if he ever got his hands on Pierre he would cut the little traitor’s liver out.

  Gregory tried to cheer him up as well as he could by saying that all was not lost yet, and that probably when they reached Luc Ferrière’s house they would find Madeleine waiting for them; but he had difficulty in concealing his own anxiety. Von Geisenheim had said that he would take no action for a few hours, but Gregory had left him soon after eight, and it was now well past eleven. The General might have considered that three hours’ start was ample for Gregory to get clear of any conspirators with whom he might personally be involved, and have by now issued instructions for the police to act.

  At last the procession slowed up. Murmuring apologies, Gregory and Kuporovitch thrust their way forward to its head to find that Baras had just reached the top of another flight of steps and was pushing up a heavy trapdoor. They followed him out to find themselves in another cellar, and going up more stairs they saw by the light of their torches that they had reached street level again in a disused warehouse.