Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (90 page)

On the 11th he gracefully
fulfilled the role of guest of honour at the Marquise de Frontignac’s lunch.
About thirty people were present, the great majority being middle-aged, heavily
bejewelled women. As he was introduced to them, few of their names meant
anything to him, but he realized that they were the wives of wealthy men and
had social ambitions. In every great capital there were many of. their kind
who, for the privilege of lunching with a Marquise and meeting a Duke with an
ancient name and romantic background, would willingly give big sums to charity.
He was pleased that he had come, as he felt certain that the draw of his
presence would enable his
ch
è
re

Madeleine to make a good haul.

After the meal they
adjourned to the Marquise’s
salon.
An elderly tabby-cat man, of the type who always seems to stage manage such
affairs, called for silence. The Marquise produced some notes and studied them
for a moment through her lorgnette. Then she addressed the company:

“My dear friends, I have
a confession to make. I feel I have got you here to-day under false pretences.
Perhaps that was very naughty of me; but I wanted to speak to you about the
charity that means so much to me. Now, please don’t be angry. I know how
generously you are all giving to the new war charities for our poor, brave
wounded. But we should not forget our other obligations. Both in peace and war
more people are killed by disease than by bullets. Alas, we cannot stop the
bullets of our wicked enemy; but we can help to save lives threatened by
disease. Most of you know of the great work in which I am so deeply interested.
It is the checking of that greatest of all scourges—Tuberculosis. I want your
help—your generous help—to stamp this awful plague out once and for all from
our dear France. And I wish to remind you of one thing. I do not appeal to you
now only to help to protect the poor. This terrible disease is so contagious
that every day it menaces your own dear ones. A consumptive nursemaid may
easily give it to your children. No one of us is too rich, too far removed from
the slums, of too high station, for our homes not to be threatened by it.

“Let me give you an
example. Many of you will recall the beautiful young Archduchess, Ilona Theresa
of Austria, who stayed in Paris for a short time this spring, on her way to
England. She was then a lovely, healthy girl, full of the joy of life. In the
summer she contracted tuberculosis. She became subject to a galloping
consumption. Only yesterday I saw the great Swiss specialist, Dr. Bruckner, who
has been attending her. He tells me that now he cannot give her more than three
weeks to live—”

Two afternoons later, De
Richleau was standing in the fringe of a pine wood on the west bank of the
Upper Rhine. With the same pair of powerful Zeiss glasses that, eighteen
afternoons earlier, he had used to study the German-Dutch frontier, he now
scrutinized that between Switzerland and Austria. He had felt then that his
life depended on his getting out of the territories controlled by the Central
Empires: he felt now that something worth more than his life depended on
getting into them again.

Madeleine de Frontignac’s
innocent disclosure about Ilona had struck him like a thunderbolt. He had known
for a long time that her illness was more serious than she admitted, and
latterly that it was a matter for considerable anxiety: but he had not thought
for one moment that she was in any danger of death. Yet the Marquise’s report
had not been based on idle gossip. She had received it from Dr. Bruckner.

Her terrible words had
temporarily paralysed De Richleau’s brain. He felt sure that his social
instincts had carried him through the last half hour of the party, and that he
had said the appropriate things to her and her guests before leaving; but he
could remember practically nothing about that. His mind had become obsessed
with the thought that, if Ilona had only a few weeks to live, he must get to
her at the earliest possible moment.

He had had neither
compunction nor difficulty in terminating the work he had been given on the
fateful evening of September the 4th. Returning at once to Melun, he had told
Sir Pellinore the facts. The Baronet had agreed that his commitment was an
entirely voluntary one, and that he was free to go whenever he wished. After an
earnest expression of his sympathy, he added:

“Battle’s won now,
anyway. Sir John’s movin’ his H.Q. forward to-morrow. So I’m goin’ home myself.
Thunderin’ glad to have had the chance to lend a hand here. Experience I’ll
never forget. But many more urgent things than drawin’ lines on maps with
coloured pencils waitin’ my attention in London.”

Sir Henry Wilson had
proved equally amenable. To him the Duke simply said that he wished to be
relieved of his duties on account of private affairs that needed immediate
attention.

“I’m sorry you’re leaving
us,” the General said. “But you know the position as well as I do. The Huns are
digging in on the Aisne, and the French haven’t another kick left in them; so
there is bound to be a stalemate now for several weeks. It may even be the
sprint! before either side has recovered sufficiently to launch another full
scale offensive. You’ve been a big help to us in the past week, but it is no
longer necessary for us to keep in such constant touch with General Galli
é
ni.
How long do you think it will take you to arrange these affairs of yours?”

“About a month,” De
Richleau had informed him glumly.

“Well, when you’re
through, if you care to come back to us, we’d be glad to have you. I’m afraid I
can’t promise you the rank of Brigadier-General. But hundreds of people are
being given temporary commissions now, and experts of all kinds are being
granted field rank at once to enable them to be used to the best advantage. I
should have no difficulty in getting you made a G.S.O.I., and with your ability
you would. soon be stepped up to full Colonel.”

If anything could have
pleased the Duke, the thought that he could now take up a post in which he
could use his military knowledge would have done so. But for him the future was
filled with nightmare uncertainties. Nevertheless, he thanked Sir Henry with
all the cordiality he could muster, and promised to report for duty as soon as
his affairs were settled.

Next morning, Sir
Pellinore saw the British Ambassador for him and secured him a permit to enter
Switzerland. He bought himself a civilian outfit, packed his uniform into a
suitcase and parked it at the Ritz. After lunch they parted with regret and
affection; Sir Pellinore to return to England, De Richleau to seek a way of
reaching Ilona’s deathbed. so that he might give her the comfort of his
presence when she died.

Early on Saturday, the
13th, he had arrived at St. Gall, near the south-east corner of Lake Constance.
There, he bought a large scale map and hired a car to drive him the fifteen
miles through the Appenzell to the village of Alst
ä
tten.
In the village he had paid off his hired car and lunched; then gone out on his
reconnaissance.

Alst
ä
tten
lay on a slope of the mountain range he had just crossed. To the east of it
spread the low ground of the Rhine valley, which was there some eight miles
wide; then on the Austrian side the ground rose steeply again to the mountains
of the Vorarlberg. About four miles below him lay the village of Kriesseren; a
mile beyond it wound the river, and two miles beyond that another village which
he knew must be Hohenembs. For a few moments he searched the heights above it
intently, knowing that the Imperial villa would be somewhere upon them. On one
spur he could see a little irregular patch which he thought might be it.

Having mastered the
general lie of the land from his vantage point, he returned to Alst
ätten
,
and took a local ’bus down into Kriesseren. There was a little hotel there with
a vine-covered terrace overlooking the river. From it he could now see the
patch with his naked eye and confirmed his belief that it was a large châlet.

At that hour in the
afternoon the terrace was deserted, and having ordered himself a Kirschwasser
he got into conversation with the waitress. She was a daughter of the
proprietor, and lamented that the war had ruined the summer tourist trade of
Switzerland. Few foreigners were coming there now, apart from invalids, and
they were no good to a little hotel lying on low ground near the river.

After a while he pointed
to the châlet, remarking on its lovely situation, and asked if she knew who
owned it.

“The Emperor of Austria,”
she replied. “It is occupied now by an Austrian Princess. I forget her name,
but she is said to be very beautiful. She came there for her health soon after
the war started, but they say she is in a bad way and unlikely to recover.”

He winced, looked quickly
away, and said: “In spite of the war, you still get news then of what goes on
over there across the river?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “We
are not at war with Austria, God be thanked; so trade continues. But they are
very careful now who they let in and out, because of spies and deserters.”

After finishing his
drink, the Duke walked down to the bank of the river. The Rhine was not very
broad there, so he knew that he could easily swim it, but, obviously, it would
be preferable if he could get a boat to take him over. As it was not a war
zone, there were no defences, but he felt certain that, even in peace time,
occasional night patrols would be on the look-out for people endeavouring to
enter Austria clandestinely.

Britain was the only
country in Europe which had continued to allow the products of other countrys’
cheap labour to be dumped without limit or tax upon her. All the others
protected their principal industries by duties; so, although travellers had
been permitted to pass freely from one to another, all European frontiers had
customs guards stationed alone; them to prevent illegal imports.

This had resulted in the
creation of a vast international smuggling organization, and the gradual
building up of a complete system of underground communications. De Richleau
knew that on the frontiers of all countries still at peace the smugglers’
operations would have continued to function, and he felt that if he could get
in touch with the local Rhine smugglers they would easily be able to put him
across.

Strolling back to the
village, he began to make a round of the few peasant drinking dens that it
contained. At the first he tried, a sour-faced woman brought him his drink and
regarded him with quick suspicion when he endeavoured to get her to talk about
smuggling; but at the second he was luckier. Two fairly prosperous looking men
were drinking there, and readily accepted his offer that they should join him
in another round. They were not very communicative on the subject of smuggling,
but admitted that it went on in the neighbourhood. After a while he took the
bull by the horns, said that he wanted to get across the river that night and,
under the table, showed them a handful of French gold.

The chances that a police
spy would possess so much foreign money were remote, so the sight of it allayed
their suspicions. They discussed the matter between themselves in
patois
for a few minutes, then told De Richleau that for
twenty
louis d’or
his crossing could be arranged. It was decided that he should dine at the
little hotel and remain there till it closed, then return to the drinking den,
and when the moon was down someone would take him across.

Everything went without a
hitch. The moon did not set till three, but it was a night of drifting cloud
with few stars, and soon after four o’clock he was put ashore at a derelict
landing stage on the Austrian bank.