Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (93 page)

When called on to make
his defence, De Richleau took the line that he was an entirely innocent British
subject who, merely on suspicion, had been detained in Austria contrary to his
will. He pointed out that no charge had been preferred against him of
communicating Austria’s military secrets to the enemy while on von Hötzendorf’s
staff: that the crimes imputed to him while in Germany were based solely on the
written evidence of witnesses whom he had not been given an opportunity to
cross-examine; that he had been denied the opportunity to call witnesses, such
as the Hungarian Minister-President, Count Tisza, to testify to his character
and conduct while in Vienna: and, finally, that, having been illegally
prevented from returning to his own country before the outbreak of war, no
blame could be attached to him for having done so at the first opportunity.

The case had looked so
black against him to start with that he now felt things might have gone far
worse. No evidence at all had been forthcoming about the deaths of Lanzi and
Tauber, and he had raised issues which he was certain would have caused a civil
court to adjourn the hearing until more conclusive proof of his guilt could be
brought. With new hope he saw, too, that he had succeeded in arousing doubts in
two members of the court. The monocled Lieutenant was regarding him quite
sympathetically, and the elderly Captain with grave, rather kindly interest.
But Lanzi’s nephew continued to stare at him with black hostility and, brushing
up his fierce red moustache, called on the Prosecutor to make his final speech.

Adjusting his gold
spectacles, the dark little Captain proceeded in a quiet unemotional voice to
go over the ground again. He did not contest the fact that the accused had been
on the point of leaving Vienna before the war broke out, but drew attention to
his having left his attempt to do so to the very last moment. That, he
suggested, was because the accused had wanted to secure the latest possible
information on the Dual Monarchy’s intentions before returning to London; and
there could be no doubt that his many contacts in high places had given him
access to information, both diplomatic and military, which could be of very
great value indeed to the enemy. Therefore the K.S. had had the best possible
grounds for preventing him from leaving.

He then dealt with De
Richleau’s activities after being released from prison, and showed that
although actual proof of espionage might be considered scanty, the
circumstantial evidence against him was overwhelming. The statements of Colonel
Nicolai and Herr Steinhauer about his attack upon them could not be brushed
aside; and it was known to them that the accused had been in communication with
the British Committee of Imperial Defence the previous spring. Having escaped
to Holland, he had, only a few days ago, returned to Austria in secret, and
refused to give any reason for having done so. He had lied his way on to
General von Hötzendorf’s staff, and given General von Moltke misleading
information. How, therefore, could there be the least doubt that while posing
as an Austrian officer he had been guilty of acts which called for the extreme
penalty?

When he had finished the
Duke was marched into an adjoining room to await the decision of the court, he
knew the drill only too well, so could imagine what was happening. Military law
ordained that the Lieutenant, as the junior member of the court, should first
be asked his opinion. The Captain would give his next, and finally the
President would give his. If there was any disagreement they would discuss the
pros and cons of the matter. Unless both the juniors were strongly opposed to
the President, as the senior and more experienced officer, his opinion nearly
always proved decisive—and the President was Lanzi’s nephew.

With that in mind, and
the damning speech of the Prosecutor still ringing in his ears, De Richleau’s
hopes fell again to zero. He was not kept long in doubt. Barely three minutes
had elapsed before he was sent for and marched back into the court room. He had
been found guilty of falsely representing himself as an Austrian subject, with
intent to learn military secrets; of having entered the country illegally; and
of acts deliberately calculated to damage the military operations of the
Central Powers. The President then passed sentence of death upon him.

In spite of the fact that
he had been prepared for it, when the sentence was actually delivered, it came
as a shock. Something inside himself had continued to argue up to the very last
moment, against the logic of his brain, that he would not be called on to pay
the extreme penalty. Yet he knew that for them to have sentenced him to a long
term of imprisonment in a fortress would have been to evade the issue; either
they must find him innocent, and acquit him of all but the minor charge of
having re-entered the country illegally, or guilty; and if the latter, guilty
of crimes which could not possibly be paid for by less than death. The blood
drained from his face for a moment, then he bowed to his judges, faced about,
and with his chin held high walked between his guards back to his cell.

As they led him into it,
he found that his Prisoner’s Friend had followed him. The young man had never
seen a death sentence passed before, and his pink cheeks had gone quite pale.
In a low voice he said: “I—I’m sorry I was of so little use to you.”

De Richleau managed a
smile. “Please don’t worry. As you knew nothing of the facts of my case you
could not possibly have done better for me than I did for myself.”

“Is there anything I can
do to make things easier for you?” asked the Lieutenant.

“Perhaps. When will it
be?”

“To-morrow morning. At
the usual hour for—for these things. Soon after dawn.”

“I trust that I am to be
shot?”

“Yes. As a soldier you
are entitled to that. “‘

“Good! I should greatly
resent the indignity of being hanged. Now, this is what you can do for me. See
that the squad make a neat job of it by aiming for my heart. For God’s sake don’t
have any youngsters or recruits among them. Detail some tough old sweats, and
tell them beforehand that I have given you the money that was taken from me
when I was searched, to distribute among them as a reward for ensuring me a
quick, clean death.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes
goggled and he looked as if he were about to be sick; but he stammered, “Yes.
I—I promise to arrange it like that. Is there anything else?”

“Only that I should like
to write some letters and make my will; and I would be grateful if you would
take charge of them. If you can let me have some paper now, and come back at
about eight o’clock, I’ll have them ready.”

When the Lieutenant had
fetched the writing materials and gone, the Duke suppressed a tremor of
excitement and sat down to write to Ilona.

His trial had introduced
an entirely new element into his outlook and, he felt, provided him with legal
grounds which entitled him to seek her help. It had disclosed the fact that the
German police were unable to bring home against him the killings on the train,
and that but for minor matters all the evidence against him was circumstantial.
He was convinced that, had he been tried by a civil court, he would have been
granted the right of appeal. Ilona might have no official status, but her
prestige was immense, and it was a part of her functions as a royalty, to
receive and consider petitions from people who felt that the authorities had
dealt unjustly with them. Only the Emperor had the right to pardon, but a
message from her to the Commandant would, the Duke felt sure, result in a
postponement of his execution.

He was still greatly
distressed at the thought of bringing such a worry on her, but considered that
justified by the fact that where she could have done nothing for him before she
could now do much. In his extremity he reasoned that, if she could get him a
retrial in Vienna, there was a fair hope of his securing an acquittal on all
major charges; and that if there appeared the least doubt about his guilt, many
of his influential friends there would endeavour to save him, particularly
Count Tisza. The Count would realize that it was his having delayed to the last
moment the rescinding of the parole he had exacted that had resulted in the
present situation. As Minister-President, even in the worst event, he could
secure a remission of sentence to a term of imprisonment in a fortress. With
all this in mind, De Richleau had swiftly reached the conclusion that only a
quixotic fool would have refrained from appealing to Ilona now he could arm her
with a legal pretext as the means of saving his life.

First he wrote the formal
petition, giving full particulars of the trial, pointing out that he had been
condemned on written evidence, and praying Her Imperial Highness’ gracious
intervention. It was a carefully worded document that she could quote to the
Commandant as her justification for intervening, and, later, forward to the
proper authorities. Then he covered many sheets, in which he expressed all that
he felt, in case she should be unable to do anything for him. He wrote
glowingly of the hours they had spent together; of his undying love for her;
and ended by saying that if he must die to-morrow his only regret would be that
he had not first held her in his arms again.

By the time he had
finished it was getting on for eight. As he stuck down the envelope of his
letter he took considerable comfort from the thought that, if Ilona could do
nothing, she had at least been spared the agony of awaiting his trial. All
would be over within a few hours of her receiving it, and as she was so soon to
die herself she might gain comfort from the thought that within a little time
they would be together once more. But he knew that she would move heaven and
earth to save him, and felt confident now that she would succeed.

On the Lieutenant’s
arrival, De Richleau greeted him with a calm but serious air, and said: “I want
you to have this letter sent by dispatch rider to Her Imperial Highness the
Archduchess Ilona Theresa, at Hohenembs. I cannot too strongly impress upon you
its urgency and importance. I was greatly averse to involving Her Imperial
Highness in this affair as long as I expected an acquittal. But now my life
depends upon it.”

The Lieutenant looked at
him in blank surprise, then exclaimed, “I’m sorry! Terribly sorry. But what you
ask is quite impossible. It is strictly against orders for prisoners to send
letters to anyone.”

When the Duke had
contemplated writing to Ilona soon after his arrest, he had thought it probable
that he might come up against prison regulations, and have to think out some
way of circumventing them. But now that he had been tried and condemned he
could hardly credit that he was to be denied the small privilege of dispatching
a letter. In swift consternation he began to plead and argue.

“I’m sorry,” repeated the
Lieutenant. “It is more than my commission is worth to go against orders in a
case like this. Of course, I will take charge of any letters you care to leave
with me, and do my best to see that they reach their destination. But I cannot
possibly send this letter off now without the Commandant’s permission.”

“Then ask it at once,” replied
the Duke tersely. “And should he refuse this simple request, I demand to be
brought before him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do
that either,” said the Lieutenant unhappily. “You see, he has gone out to
dinner somewhere in the town with Major Ronge; but where, I don’t know.”

Seeing that nothing could
be done for the moment, De Richleau restrained his anger and fresh anxiety as
well as he could. “All right,” he nodded. “But be good enough to ask him to see
me the moment he returns. I can rely on you to do that, can’t I?”

“Certainly! I’ve no idea
when he will be back; but I promise you I’ll hang about for him and let him
know of your request immediately he comes in.” With an apologetic glance the
Lieutenant withdrew, and the cell door was locked behind him.

More agitated now than at
any time since he had been in prison, the Duke began to pace up and down the
few feet of floor that lay between the door and the wall opposite it, which was
blank except for a small barred window set high up near the ceiling. A few
minutes earlier he had been next to positive that, now no really damning
evidence had been brought against him at his trial, Ilona could save him. But,
unless he could get his letter to her, he would die with her still in ignorance
of the facts.

Even if the Commandant
did not return until the early hours of the morning, there would still be time
to get the letter to Hohenembs and for her to telephone the barracks. But would
the Commandant agree to send the letter? That was the awful doubt that now
haunted the Duke.

At one moment he felt
that no human being could be so stonyhearted as to refuse a condemned man a
request that might secure his reprieve: at the next he recalled that Count
Zelltin was Lanzi’s nephew, and had good cause to wish to see his prisoner
shot.

In an agony of anxiety De
Richleau strode to and fro for what seemed an interminable time. His hands were
sweating and his dark hair was damp on his forehead. Now, more than ever
before, he realized how good life could be, and how desperately he wanted to live.
And for him life or death now hung upon the decision of a man who had every
reason to be bitterly antagonistic to him.