Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (25 page)

Soon after one o’clock
next day Frau Sacher introduced him to the actress who had enjoyed no foreign
triumphs, and of whom most of the world had never heard: but who, for over a
quarter of a century, had been the constant companion of the ruler of the
second greatest empire in Europe. She was now just over sixty, but she
preserved many of the indications of the fair, Germanic beauty she had once enjoyed,
and all the natural, unaffected charm that had so endeared her to both the
Emperor and Empress.

In spite of
imperial patronage, many years had passed before she finally left the stage,
and De Richleau was able to win her goodwill at once by speaking
enthusiastically of her performances which he had witnessed, when, as a boy, he
had first visited Vienna with his father in the early ’nineties.

During lunch he
exerted all his skill to draw her out on the leading personalities of the
Empire and on various international problems, but he succeeded only in catching
a single reflection of the Emperor’s mind through hers in one unguarded moment.
Franz Joseph did not like the Kaiser: he regarded the Hohenzollerns as an
upstart dynasty, and considered that William II revealed his dubious ancestry
by lacking many of the qualities that go to make a true gentleman.

On the other
hand, she spoke freely of the Emperor, declaring that he was still hale and
vigorous in mind and body, and that there was every reason to believe that he
would continue so for a long time to come. In spite of his eighty-four years,
he maintained the habit of a life-time by getting up at four o’clock every
morning and taking his first coffee at his desk while he began to go through
the official papers awaiting him. He walked in his gardens for an hour or more
every day and was still capable of taking an occasional ride on horse-back. But
those were practically the only relaxations he allowed himself. He greatly
disliked public functions and entertaining, as they interfered with his
routine. On the rare occasions when he did have guests, it meant his putting
off dinner until five or six o’clock, whereas normally he took his evening meal
between three and four in the afternoon, and liked to be in bed and asleep by
eight o’clock.

She said that
underneath his cold exterior he was really kind, considerate and warm-hearted;
but he had suffered so many sorrows and disappointments in his life that, while
still a comparatively young man, he had become chary of giving his affections
freely. The only men to whom he permitted any degree of intimacy were his three
personal aides-de-camp, all of whom had served him faithfully for many years
and were now over seventy. They were Count Paar, who advised him on the filling
of all posts that became vacant; Baron Bolfas, with whom he discussed matters
of high policy and foreign affairs; and Count Beck, a long since retired Chief
of Staff, who now arranged all public functions and military reviews.
Occasionally Generals von Hötzendorf or Potiorek were admitted to lengthy
audiences, and the one usually got his way by sheer persistence until the other
counteracted his rival’s gains owing to his courtier-like manners and the
support of Count Beck. But, generally, the three septuagenarian a.d.c.s.
succeeded, like a living rampart, in sheltering their master from all intrusions
and minor annoyances; although his sense of responsibility was so great that
even they dared not hide from him any matter, internal or external, which might
affect the well-being of his Empire. In consequence, the mountains of State
papers he perused occupied most of his waking hours; but he devoted himself
unsparingly to this duty in the firm belief that his exemplary life and
conscientious labours must in the end secure for his people the blessing of
God.

As De Richleau
listened to this picture of a dreary, unimaginative existence, he thought of
the figure made familiar by innumerable photographs, of the aged ruler with the
heavily pouched eyes and white mutton-chop whiskers, dressed in his favourite
Tyrolese costume, and added what he knew from other sources.

The Emperor had
been very handsome as a young man, but even then his high moral rectitude had
caused him to ignore the blandishments of scores of lovely women. He had been a
keen student of military affairs, but had never fought a war without losing it.
From the beginning of his reign the non-Germanic peoples who formed the great
bulk of his subjects had plagued him with their grievances, yet he had never
devised a policy that brought contentment to any of them. He had spent the
greater part of his life in a city where music and the arts were esteemed more
highly than in any other, yet he had remained deaf to their appeal. He reigned
over a people by nature gayer and more warm-hearted than any in the world, yet
he had eschewed all friendship and preferred to live as a recluse. He was
abysmally ignorant in the cultural sense, hide-bound in a narrow morality, and
doggedly self-opinionated upon matters about which his strong-willed mother had
made up his mind for him several generations ago. His sole virtue was his
conscientious adherence to his duty as he saw it, and in the doing of it he had
let life pass him by, without either tasting its joys or having to his credit a
single noteworthy achievement.

Such a man, the
Duke decided, could certainly not be counted on, at the very end of his life,
suddenly to stand forth and veto the considered opinions of his legally
appointed advisers.

After the
luncheon was over, he thanked Frau Sacher for her kindness in arranging it, and
escorted Frau Schratt to the carriage which, as she told him with a smile, she
still used at the Emperor s request, as he had ridden in a motor-car only once
himself to please King Edward VII and had disliked the experience intensely.
Then, having waved good-bye to her, he went in again and straight up to his
room.

The luncheon
with Frau Schratt had been not only his last line of investigation, but his
last chance of being able to send back to Whitehall a glimmer of hope that
peace might be preserved, and he now set to work on the grim task of completing
his mission by writing a long report to Sir Pellinore. In it he gave a brief résumé
of the state of things as he had found them in the Austrian and Serbian
capitals, then a detailed account of his conversations with von Hötzendorf and
Dimitriyevitch. To quote his conclusions, they ran as follows:

       The
Austrian and Serbian peoples continue to cherish an inbred hatred for one
another owing to their many centuries of irascible contact:

The Serbians are
animated by a desire for expansion and are conditioned to war by their recent
conflicts. They would take the field again with readiness and, as far as their
army is concerned, enthusiasm.

The Austrians
have no territorial ambitions and are ill-prepared for war. They would regard
its coming as a major calamity, and even a large part of their army would march
to it unwillingly.

       The
military chiefs of both countries definitely desire war, and wield sufficient
influence with their governments:

in the case of
Serbia, to force it at any time they consider it expedient to do so;

in the case of
Austria, given a
casus belli,
almost certainly to over-rule any attempts by
peaceable elements to prevent it.

       Serbia
will deliberately take steps to provoke an armed conflict during the last week
in June, or possibly a few days earlier.

       The
Serbians will make no attempt to localize the conflict but, on the contrary,
use their utmost efforts to draw Russia in to their assistance, entirely
regardless of the fact that her participation may lead to a general European
conflagration.

He then added a
final paragraph to his letter, which read:

“Having regard
to the terms of reference of my mission, I trust you will consider that I have
now fulfilled it satisfactorily. No one could regret its outcome more than
myself, but it is some small consolation to me that I have been able to obtain
for you, within approximately a week, the date that the crisis is likely to
arise, and done so without having to perjure myself by joining the Black Hand.
About having disclosed the personal confidences of Dimitriyevitch I have no
qualms, but I have much disliked abusing the trust of my Austrian friends and
am greatly relieved to feel that I need no longer play the part of a spy among
them. I plan to remain here for a further ten days or so, as I fear it will be
the last chance I shall have, perhaps for years to come, to enjoy the carefree,
happy atmosphere of the most delightful and civilized of all cities. I shall
then return to England, and take such steps as I can to secure a niche for myself
in which to take my part in the coming ordeal. In this connection I should
regard it as a personal kindness if you would use your influence to persuade “Mr.
Marlborough” to reconsider his decision regarding my request for a commission
in the British Army, or at least to endeavour to find me some post where my
military knowledge may be of value.”

When he had
completed his dispatch, he put it in a thick envelope, wrote on the front
Most Secret
, on the flap
To
be opened by Sir Pellinore
Gwaine-Cust personally’
, and sealed it with wax. He then
locked it in a small brief case, of which he had left a duplicate key at Major
Hankey’s office in London, and went out. Crossing The Ring;, he walked up the
Rennweg, entered the Metternichgasse and rang the bell at the British Embassy.

A footman
informed him that the Ambassador was out, but was expected back in about an
hour, so he recrossed the Rennweg and went into the Belvedere Gardens behind
the Schwarzenberg Palace. On this peaceful summer evening it was delightful
there. The gardens formed a wide oblong rising up a gentle slope. They were
adorned by
many
fine pieces of statuary and their central walk, flanked by
lines of sphinx, connected two charming Baroque Palaces, called the Lower and
Upper Belvedere. The latter had been occupied by the Heir Apparent and his
morganatic wife for the past ten years, and for a while, De Richleau stood
admiring the views from below its private terrace. But he was extremely glad
when his hour of waiting was up.

He was highly
conscious that the few sheets of his own writing that he was carrying had the
awful power to separate for ever many of the pairs of lovers strolling near
him, and render fatherless within a month some of the children playing on the
grass. It needed only an accident to befall him, and for his letter to get into
the wrong hands, to precipitate the catastrophe which he still prayed that a
God-sent miracle might yet avert. If, via a hospital and the police, his letter
was placed before von Hötzendorf he had no doubt at all that, with such
evidence of Serbia’s intentions to hand, the fiery little General would
immediately secure his government’s consent to secret mobilization in order
that Austria might strike first and catch the Serbians off their guard. It was
for that reason the Duke had taken so many precautions to protect his dispatch,
and had sought the gardens rather than a café in which to pass his hour of
waiting.

On his second
call at the Embassy he learned that Sir Maurice de Bunsen had returned. He sent
up his card and a request that the Ambassador would spare him a few minutes on
an urgent matter. Five minutes later he was shown into the library. The
diplomat received him courteously, offered him a glass of sherry and, when they
were seated, inquired his business.

De Richleau
explained that he had been making certain inquiries in Vienna and Belgrade into
highly secret matters, on behalf of the British Government.

The Ambassador
frowned. “So you are one of our cloak and dagger merchants. I trust that you
have not got yourself into any serious trouble, nor have come to make some
request which may cause me embarrassment?”

“On the contrary,”
smiled the Duke. “I desire only the protection of the Embassy bag to send some
papers safely to London. Or rather, if you have a King’s Messenger at your
disposal, I should be grateful if he could make a special trip, as the matter
is urgent and of the utmost importance.”

“Very well.” The
Ambassador appeared much relieved. “I can arrange for them to leave to-morrow.
I take it you are sending them in that brief case: but I see it is not
addressed to anyone.”

“I thought it
better to wait until I got here, then ask your Excellency for a label.”

Sir Maurice
rummaged in a drawer of his desk and produced one. De Richleau wrote on it
‘For
Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust, Bart.,
v.c.,
c/o
The Office of the Committee of Imperial Defence’,
and tied it on.
Without another word being said regarding the transaction, they finished their
sherry and talked for some time about mutual friends in Vienna. Then the Duke
took his leave with a great load off his mind.

He had done a
job well that he had taken on with great reluctance, and felt now that, for a
week or so at least, he was free to enjoy a world of charm and gaiety that
might all too soon be wiped out for ever. But he was still wondering if, with
the secret knowledge he possessed, he really would be able to enjoy it, when,
just as he was about to re-enter Sacher’s, he suddenly found himself confronted
by a young woman.

She was neatly,
although inexpensively, dressed, and was regarding him with shy, almost
frightened eyes. Suddenly she bobbed him a curtsy, thrust a letter at him, and
said breathlessly: