Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (40 page)

While Dimitriyevitch had
been speaking two others, whom he felt certain were Tankosić and Ciganović,
had moved up with a mask, white hooded cloak, black kid gloves and dagger. With
these they now ritually equipped the Duke as an accepted member of their order.

He was much relieved to
think that this unpleasant business was over. The mumbo-jumbo of it had struck
him as extremely schoolboyish and had entirely failed to impress him, except
with a slight nausea. But he could imagine it having a profound effect upon the
undeveloped mind of the average Serbian officer, who was only one generation
removed from superstitious peasant stock. In particular, he considered that the
final warning, that suicide would be the inevitable sequel to treachery, was a
very clever piece of psychology. The suggestion of it was well calculated to
beget the desired result among such semi-primitive men, and much more likely to
deter them from betraying the society than any straightforward threat to seek
out and kill them.

These thoughts had hardly
passed through his mind before Militchevitch appeared at his side again and
indicated that he should leave the room. As he had expected to be offered a seat
at the long table and allowed to take part in the further business of the
gathering, he was most disagreeably surprised. He could only hope that his
withdrawal was required merely temporarily, while the meeting discussed some
question connected with himself. But, when he reached the hall, to his intense
annoyance, Militchevitch began to relieve him of his cloak and other regalia.

Hiding his disappointment
as well as he could, he asked: “Are these things common property, or are they
marked in some way so that I can identify them when I need them for the next
meeting?”

The tall, sloe-eyed young
man smiled his sad smile, and replied: “You have been using one of the spare
sets kept for such purposes, Excellency; and it is unlikely that you will need
the loan of a set again. There are many hundreds of members of our brotherhood,
but once they have been initiated very few of them are ever called upon to make
a second appearance before the Grand Council. Excuse me, please, for a few
moments now, as I must put these things away and I wish to go to the toilet
before we start back.”

The second Militchevitch
disappeared, De Richleau tip-toed over to the door of the big room. He dared
not stoop down and put his ear to the key-hole in case he was caught in that
position, so he leant his back against the door-jamb and stood with a
nonchalant air, his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling as though deep
in thought; but actually he was straining his ears to catch every sound that
came through the crack of the door.

He could hear the voices
inside quite plainly but, unfortunately for him, they were talking in Serbian
and, although he was making rapid strides in mastering that language, they were
speaking too fast for him to catch much of what they said. But, in the three or
four minutes which elapsed while Militchevitch was absent, he did get one
thing. Sunday and the date of the 28th were mentioned several times, and it was
clear that they were discussing some definite action that was to take place on
that day.

The sound of footsteps
gave him sufficient time to step away from the door before Militchevitch
reappeared, and two minutes later they were in the car on their way back to
Belgrade. On the way he learnt only one thing of minor interest. Militchevitch
had not been selected to act as
cicerone
to him on this occasion because he was his A.D.C. The young man carried out the
same duties for each neophyte who was initiated, and kept the register of the
Brotherhood.

As De Richleau undressed
that night he felt deep concern about the time he had already lost without
making any appreciable advance towards the object of his mission. He had
exercised considerable restraint while waiting to be initiated, counting it as
certain that once he had taken the oath to the Black Hand the secret intentions
of the brotherhood would be disclosed to him at once. But as things were he had
not even had a chance to find out the names of the men who made up the Grand
Council, much less learn their plans while they sat in session. He could only trust
that now he was an initiate, Dimitriyevitch would take an early opportunity to
reveal their intentions to him.

Ten hours later, outside
the cathedral in Belgrade after a Sunday Church Parade, De Richleau was
presented by Dimitriyevitch to King Peter. Every schoolboy in the world who
collected stamps at that time was familiar with the physiognomy of the Serbian
monarch. His portrait, even more than that of his royal Montenegrin neighbour
and ally, typified the idea of a Ruritanian Prince. On seeing him the Duke had
to repress a smile, as the King was so exactly like the decorative image that
made the stamps of his country so much more intriguing than those of most other
nations. Crowning the lined face, with its cavalry moustache and small tuft of
beard on the chin, reposed the flat-topped white fur papenka and erect
aigrette. He wore a brilliant uniform with a half-cloak, modelled on the
Austrian pattern, gold striped breeches and tasselled Hessian boots.

The Duke knew that under
these theatrical trappings the King possessed a liberal and cultured mind; but
on this occasion he gave no evidence of it. On the contrary, he remarked on how
much he owed to Dimitriyevitch’s good advice, adding courteously that he was
now further indebted to the Colonel for having secured a soldier of De Richleau’s
abilities for the Serbian army.

King Peter was known to
be a sick man, and there was a rumour that he shortly intended to appoint his
son, Prince Alexander, as Regent. Moreover, as the King had protected his
predecessor’s murderers, there seemed good reason to suppose that he was too
deeply in the toils of the Black Hand for any outside influence to succeed in a
last-moment attempt to persuade him to gamble his life in a coup to suppress
it. So when he praised its Chief, De Richleau tactfully followed suit by saying
that never, in his experience, had he met with such an efficient Intelligence
Service as that run by the Colonel.

The elderly monarch then
got into his carriage, the troops presented arms, the band played, and he was
driven back to the Palace. De Richleau watched him go with a cynical little
smile, for the time and place chosen by Dimitriyevitch for this informal
presentation had not been lost upon him. Evidently the Colonel did not wish him
to have a prolonged conversation with the King; and, since his appointment as a
Lieutenant-General made his presentation essential, had selected the parade as
an opportunity which from its nature would curtail the meeting.

In an unusually good
humour at the compliments just paid him, Dimitriyevitch invited the Duke to
lunch at the Senior Officers’ Club. He accepted with alacrity, hoping at last
to be told something of the Colonel’s secret schemes. But in this he was
disappointed. Three times during the meal he led the conversation with
considerable skill round to the previous night’s meeting, expressing the hope
that it had gone satisfactorily; but each time his host evaded the issue, and
at length remarked a trifle sharply:

“For the moment I think
it would be best if you concerned yourself solely with our military
preparations. Later, of course, I shall value your views on diplomatic issues,
but until the curtain goes up I need no assistance in setting the stage.”

De Richleau was perturbed
at coming up against this unexpected brick wall. He had, perhaps too
optimistically, counted on receiving Dimitriyevitch’s full confidence after his
initiation into the Black Hand, and time was growing short. As its Chief had no
intention of telling him anything, his only hope of succeeding in his mission
lay in getting the information he needed so urgently out of one of the other
members of the Grand Council. Tankosić, Ciganović and Militchevitch
were the only three he had been able to identify at the previous night’s
meeting, and he temporarily ruled out the last as the young A.D.C. apparently
held only the position of a trusted henchman so was probably not fully in the
secrets of the Council.

On Monday evening he took
Tankosić out to dinner and on to
Le Can-Can,
the dance haunt that they had
visited together the night of his first arrival in Belgrade. Both of them got
very drunk, although De Richleau was not quite so far gone as he appeared, but
he got very little for his pains. The only remark that the bull-shouldered thug
made which might have had reference to the plot was shortly before they
staggered arm in arm out into the street. They had been talking of their
shooting match in the back yard of the châlet and with a drunken leer, he said:

“Wish to God those crazy
boys could shoot as well as I do. Anyhow their weapons are all right—saw to
them myself.”

As, at that moment, a
scantily clad cabaret girl came up and perched herself on his lap, the Duke had
no chance to follow up this cryptic utterance and discover to what boys he was
alluding. And, soon afterwards, Tankosić became too drunk to talk with any
sense at all. Half an hour later, anxious and frustrated, De Richleau tumbled
into bed.

On Tuesday he followed
the same procedure with Ciganović. But the tall, chinless albino held his
liquor better, and had evidently been warned not to talk. He abruptly cut short
all attempts to make him do so, and, seeing that he was on his guard, De
Richleau dared not show more than a natural curiosity, from fear of arousing
his suspicions. Again he went to bed far from sober, and more worried than ever
by his ill-success.

In desperation, on
Wednesday, he asked Basil Militchevitch to dine with him. The young man was
obviously flattered and much upset at having to refuse, but he said that it was
his mother’s name day and he could not possibly absent himself from her party.
Secretly cursing the waste of a whole twenty-four hours, the Duke suggested
Thursday night instead; to which Militchevitch replied that he would be greatly
honoured.

Nevertheless, De Richleau
was not the man to let Wednesday go by without attempting something; so he
arranged a party for that evening of officers whom he suspected might be
members of the Grand Council, and entertained them all to dinner in a private
room at his hotel. They were a hard-drinking lot, and after the meal most of
them gathered round a piano to bellow rousing choruses while they drank. As
their host did not know any of their Serbian drinking songs he had a good
excuse for not joining in, and was able to join the older men who were not so
boisterously inclined. Yet his luck seemed completely out. They were all
actively engaged in secret preparations for war but either they did not know,
or would not talk about, how it was to be started. The only thing he picked up
which might have been a remote clue was a scrap of conversation between two of
them, to the effect that ‘It was a pity that it could not be the old man
instead, as that would have made even more certain of getting the desired
result.’

By Thursday morning all
he had to go on was this reference to ‘the old man’, Tankosić’s to ‘crazy
boys who were poor shots’, and the date Sunday the 28th. Puzzle his wits as he
would he could make nothing of these scraps, except a possibility that someone
was to be shot. But if that were so, why get children to do it? Who and where
remained a mystery: moreover, he did not see how shooting any individual was
likely to provoke a war. And time was now getting desperately short to take
counter-measures, even if he could find out enough to suggest any.

That night Militchevitch
came to dinner. During the meal it emerged that the sloe-eyed, sad-faced youth
was Dimitriyevitch’s nephew, and that he owed his position as keeper of the
Black Hand membership roll and general factotum to the Grand Council to that
relationship. He both feared and admired his uncle and, like him, was fervidly
patriotic. After a while he confessed rather shyly that he spent his leisure
transcribing ancient heroic Serbian legends into modern verse. When the Duke
asked him if he would like to go on to the cabaret show, he replied: “I hope
you will not think me unmanly, but I don’t really enjoy the company of cabaret
sort of girls. And it is such a pleasure to talk to anyone like your
Excellency, that I would much prefer to stay here for a while if I may.”

The Duke at once agreed,
although with secret reluctance, as ‘wine, women and song’ form a natural
trinity, and he felt that his prospects of loosening his guest’s tongue by
frequent application of strong liquor would be very much reduced if they
remained where they were. However, he poured the young man a handsome ration of
cognac and, as the small dining-room was now almost deserted, told the waiter
that they intended to sit on at the table instead of moving out to one in the
draughty lounge.

Actually, he did not
think it likely that Militchevitch knew anything worth knowing but, all the
same, he set to work to lull him into that sense of ease and well-being in
which confidences are made. During the next hour he learned quite a lot about
his A.D.C.‘s private life and ambitions. Then he gradually brought the
conversation round to the future of Serbia and, having done so, proceeded to
adopt a completely different technique from that which he had employed with Tankosić
and Ciganović. He spoke of the coming coup as though he knew all about it,
and took it for granted that his guest did too.