Codeword Golden Fleece Read online

  ‘Uncle has taken a turn for the worse, and we doubt if he’ll last over the weekend. He’s been——’

  ‘Uncle!’ muttered Richard, having not the faintest idea what the Duke was talking about.

  ‘Yes,’ de Richleau hurried on. ‘He’s been asking for you and Marie Lou, and if you want to make certain of seeing him again you had better do your utmost to join us here by tomorrow night. I’ve looked up Bradshaw, and there is a train leaving Vienna at twenty minutes past midnight. It will get you into Warsaw at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. I’ll make arrangements to have a car meet you at the station, which will bring you out to Lubieszow. Then we’ll all return to England together on Monday. Is that all right?’

  As far as Richard was concerned it was anything but all right. He and Marie Lou had dined at ‘Die Drei Hussaren’ on scampi—those delicious Lilliputian river lobsters—cooked in cream, roast saddle of hare and omelette au Kirsch, washed down by a peach bola made from a bottle each of sparkling and still Hock; so they were feeling very well indeed and just going on to dance at Vienna’s most amusing ‘Nacht Lokal’—‘The Crooked Lantern’.

  Only the discovery that he was a little short of money had caused him to stop at Sacher’s for more on their way to the night club, and it had been the merest fluke that he had been at the hotel caisse when the Duke’s call came through. He was not unnaturally annoyed at being asked to abandon his pleasant evening for a hasty packing and a rush for a night express on which he had not even had a chance to reserve sleepers, but since the international crisis over Danzig was now agitating everybody’s mind he had soon tumbled to what the Duke meant by ‘Uncle not being expected to last over the weekend’, and in any case such a summons from his old friend could not be ignored, so he replied at once:

  ‘Right oh! We’ll make the night train for Warsaw somehow.’

  ‘Good!’ said the Duke. ‘If there is any hitch over the car, hire one yourself and get out here as soon as you can. The place is spelt L-U-B-I-E-S-Z-O-W, and it is in the province of Polesie. See you tomorrow. Bless you both.’ Then, with a sigh of relief, he hung up the receiver.

  The following day passed without episode. It was again a pleasant, sunny morning, and about half past ten the Lubieszow family and the Duke saw Lucretia and Jan off in his aeroplane, which, having circled twice, headed south for Cracow, where they planned to arrive in good time for lunch. General Mack’s people and the Germans were already in conference, and with a short break for lunch they kept at it until half past five.

  De Richleau did a round of the stables with his host and spent the best part of the rest of the day listening to a variety of stations on the radio. He was by no means a wireless fan, since he maintained that casual listening, far from stimulating thought, dulled it, and he was mildly contemptuous of people who allowed themselves to become enslaved by its facile entertainment, instead of employing it deliberately on occasions when special concerts or items of real interest were being broadcast. But today he wanted to know how people all over Europe were reacting to the crisis, and to learn any hard news that was available.

  As he spoke several languages with great fluency and could converse quite well in a number of others, he was able to switch from station to station as each news bulletin came on, and there was very little in them that he did not catch.

  All that he heard confirmed his worst forebodings. The German propagandists had wrought themselves up to a fever pitch over Danzig. The Poles were hardly less belligerent in their determination not to give way. Italy was advocating Germany’s right to the Free City. The Czech and Austrian stations were muzzled, already harnessed by Dr. Goebbels’ propaganda machine. The rest were endeavouring to report the facts objectively, pleading for calmness, time, further arbitration; none of them openly daring to defy Hitler and use the only weapon they had—united opposition—which might have given him reason to pause.

  The Duke remembered so well the 1914 crisis. If only Britain had told the Kaiser then that she meant to fight, should he invade France, instead of waiting until the German armies were already shooting and burning their way across Belgian soil, war would have been averted. But Britain made clear the position she intended to take up—too late. It would be the same this time. If only the League States had had the courage to stand up to Hitler and tell him plainly: ‘If you attack Poland you must fight us all,’ unprepared as they were individually, he would not have dared to take on so many nations controlling among them the potential resources of half the world. But each was hoping to escape the débâcle, and de Richleau felt instinctively that humanity would do nothing to save itself. Only the purge of war could bring true vision and courageous statesmanship back to the pampered, effete democracies—and the sands of Time were fast running out.

  About six o’clock he was listening with cynical despair to Radio Paris when he caught the sound of a motor horn. Switching off the wireless, he hurried outside and found, as he had hoped, that the car he had ordered in Warsaw early that morning to meet Richard and Marie Lou had just drawn up.

  With a tired smile Richard climbed out. He was unshaven and a little bleary-eyed, but Marie Lou appeared to have survived the eighteen-hour journey somewhat better. Her small, beautifully proportioned figure was as neat as ever in smart travelling tweeds, and somehow she had managed to conceal the disorder of her chestnut hair under a round, flattish fur hat, which she wore over one ear at a rakish angle.

  ‘No need to ask if you had a good journey,’ laughed the Duke. ‘I can see you haven’t. I imagine it proved impossible to get sleepers at the last moment?’

  ‘You’re right there,’ Richard grunted. ‘We had to sit on the floor in the corridor most of the way, and were lucky to be able to do that. Half Vienna seemed to be wanting to get away on the trains last night.’

  Marie Lou sighed. ‘We felt terribly guilty about taking places on the train at all. We shouldn’t even have been able to squeeze in if it hadn’t been for a gang of Nazi bullies who arrived on the platform about five minutes before the train was due to start. They went through every carriage and wherever they found Jews—men, women, or children—they flung them off. I shall never forget the faces of those poor people. It was probably their last chance to get out to Poland. Of course, we were allowed to travel because we are English, and those Nazi bullies couldn’t have been more polite, clicking their heels and saluting after they had examined our passports; and, as Richard said, if we hadn’t pushed into the corner from which an old Jewess had been ejected, there were plenty of other Aryans behind us who would. But it was really pretty ghastly.’

  ‘I can imagine it,’ the Duke nodded. ‘Once war is declared, and the Nazis have to tighten their own belts, God help the Jews who are left inside the Reich! But come along! After a hot bath and a couple of cocktails you’ll both feel new people. I know the rooms you’ve been given, so I’ll take you straight up to them, then when you’re changed and rested I’ll present you to your hostess.’

  Unlike the Duke, Richard was neither inquisitive nor suspicious by nature; in fact, so blind was he to everything which did not personally concern him that Marie Lou used sometimes to relate that for fun she had once walked him three times round the same London square before he woke up to the fact that they had twice passed the house to which she had asked him to accompany her. In consequence, the fact that war now appeared imminent seemed a perfectly adequate explanation for the urgent summons which had caused him to leave Vienna overnight, and it never even occurred to him that there might be anything odd about the house-party of which he had so unexpectedly become a member. He did notice vaguely at dinner that there seemed to be a somewhat undue preponderance of males, but his hostess left him little time to speculate on the reason for that.

  De Richleau had warned him before dinner that, as an inducement to the Baroness to issue her invitation, he had falsely described him as an English M.P.; and now he required all his wits to avoid making a complete fool of himself as she cross-questioned him re
garding the British political scene.

  Both the Baroness and von Geisenheim, who was seated on her other side, knew far more about British politics than he did, yet both made the cardinal error of believing that British foreign policy was really controlled by the so-called ‘Cliveden set’, and that its members were so strongly anti-Communist that they would never allow Britain to become involved in a war against the Axis. Richard, who until then had believed that the ‘Cliveden set’ had some connection with professional bridge, heartily agreed with them as the easiest way out, and then managed to switch the conversation to personalities, for, although he took little interest in politics, he had a slight acquaintance with Lord Halifax, Lord Lloyd, Anthony Eden, Oliver Stanley, L. S. Amery, and a number of the younger Conservative members.

  Marie Lou, on the other hand, was quick to perceive that no normal country house-party would have brought such a number of womanless men together, and she felt at once that the gathering must have something to do with the imminence of war. The scenes in Vienna the night before and the excited, news-hungry crowds that she had seen in Warsaw that morning were still fresh in her memory.

  The Polish officers on either side of her and Major Bauer opposite were all striving to secure her attention. She was polite to the Germans and to all appearances enjoying a mild flirtation with the other two, but actually her smiling acceptances of their compliments were almost automatic. She had long since learned that men love to show off before a beautiful woman, and that an occasional exclamation of apparent interest will keep them talking endlessly about themselves and any field of endeavour in which they have achieved personal success. Jaljusz, the tall, fair man on her right, was a famous horseman who had won cups for jumping at half a dozen international horse-shows; Josef, a smaller, dark-haired man on her left, who said he came from Southern Poland, was an Air Force officer and one of the crack airmen of his country. In competition with their rather boyish boastings, the stolid German opposite seemed to have no personal triumphs to offer, so he confined himself to occasional aggressive pronouncements about the greatness of Adolf Hitler and the reflected glory which shone on all who were privileged to work for him.

  But all three might have saved their breath as far as making an impression on Marie Lou was concerned. Twenty-four hours earlier she had been dining alone with her dear Richard at ‘Die Drei Hussaren’ in Vienna, carefree and happy, hardly conscious of the clashing wills of great sections of the human race which now threatened to engulf them all in one vast maelstrom of blood, tears and death.

  The position had not perceptibly worsened since, and around her were a score of people all chattering unconcernedly, intent only upon the rich dishes placed before them and the contents of the tall flagons of cool wine. Yet, now she was terribly conscious that all of them and every soul she knew and cared for were standing on the edge of the abyss.

  If war came, how would it affect her nearest and dearest? Everyone said this would be a young man’s war, so Richard would not be involved, at all events to begin with; besides, food would be important, and he would be needed at home to get every possible ounce out of the estate. Fleur was still only a schoolgirl. How Marie Lou thanked God now that she had never had a son. Greyeyes was too old to be accepted in any fighting service, and Simon would never pass the doctors. The United States would almost certainly remain neutral, so that let Rex out. She heaved a mental sigh of relief as she thought how incredibly lucky she was at this time when nine out of ten women all over Europe stood in grave danger of having to part with a husband, a lover, a son, or at least some man they loved dearly.

  But was she really going to be so lucky after all? None of these men she loved were stay-at-homes by nature. Not even Simon, who always pretended that he was a born coward. Not even Richard, although he often swore that he would rather spend the rest of his life at home than anywhere else in the world. No question of neutrality would ever stop Rex from fighting for England in a struggle such as this, if he could possibly find a way to do it. And Greyeyes? Would he be content to work for the Red Cross and take cigarettes to wounded men in hospital? Of course not. She knew well that he spent an hour every morning of his life practising special exercises, taught him long ago by a Japanese, which kept his slender limbs as flexible and strong as steel, and he was still one of the finest shots in Europe. Age would prove no bar to him, and before the war was a week old he would be in it. Not in uniform perhaps, but engaged in some secret, deadly, dangerous business where subtle trickery, high courage and quick wits could serve Britain better than bayonets and guns. And the others would become his willing helpers, just as so often in the past.

  She sighed again, this time almost audibly, although she knew in her heart that if England were to face grave peril she could never wish that the swords of her four Modern Musketeers should lie rusting in their scabbards. The blond Jaljusz had just concluded an anecdote at which she knew instinctively she was expected to laugh, so she turned the dazzling battery of her big, violet eyes up to his face, and converted the sigh into a little moue of amazement. A moment later the Baroness caught her glance and the long double line of men stood up as she left the table with her hostess and the buxom Anna Lubieszow.

  Half an hour later, as the men began to make up tables for cards in the big lounge, de Richleau tapped Richard on the arm and, presenting him with one of his long Hoyo de Monterreys, said softly:

  ‘I’ve quite a lot I want to talk to you about, and the night is fine. Let’s smoke a cigar together while we take a stroll in the garden.’

  ‘And I’ve plenty to say to you,’ Richard replied in a low but aggrieved voice. ‘You let me in for a pretty party by saying I was a British M.P. That black-haired, monkey-faced harridan nearly caught me out a dozen times.’

  ‘Nearly, but not quite.’ The Duke smiled. ‘Fortunately, my dear fellow, I happen to know that you are not such a fool as you like your friends to believe, and that I can always count on you to pull through somehow when a little harmless duplicity is required.’

  Richard, whose natural good nature never remained ruffled for long, grinned back, completely mollified, and the two old friends passed out on to the terrace.

  The night was warm but dark, as the moon was not yet up, and patches of cloud veiled all but a few clusters of stars. When their cigars were lit de Richleau turned and led the way along the terrace towards the wild garden to the left of the house. He did not speak until they were well away from the buildings and pacing slowly down one of the twisting walks which zigzagged through the best part of an acre of flowering shrubberies, then he said:

  ‘I told you before dinner that the outbreak of hostilities is now virtually certain and that it will take place within a few days—if not hours; but what I did not dare to tell you then, for fear of walls having ears, is that the result of the first round, and, as a consequence of it, possibly the fate of the whole civilised world for hundreds of years to come, is being secretly arbitrated upon and will, I fear, be definitely “rigged” in Hitler’s favour by that bunch of crooks with whom we have just been dining.’

  ‘The devil!’ exclaimed Richard, after emitting a low whistle. ‘But, if that’s really so, why on earth aren’t you on your way to London, to let your friends in Whitehall know what’s going on?’

  ‘Because I might make matters even worse if I gave them the wrong impression, and I still have no definite proof that Mack and Co. are actually prepared to sell us out.’

  ‘But you know beyond all question that they are negotiating with our potential enemies behind our backs—surely it’s up to us to get that information to our own Government at the earliest possible moment?’

  The Duke took a long pull at his evenly burning cigar, then said slowly: ‘I’m not altogether certain of that, Richard. Chamberlain is an honest man, but he’s a fool; also, I’m convinced that he would seize on any straw which would be just enough to satisfy his conscience in an attempt to do another deal with Hitler. It’s not that he’s a coward,
but that he believes himself to be a man with a mission—the preservation of world peace. If he were told that the Poles were trying to do a deal with the Nazis he would probably consider that let us out of our obligation to go to the Poles’ assistance in the event of war, and would tell them so in the hope that they would then give in over Danzig.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that might not be so bad as it sounds. If ever anyone had a good case, Hitler has it over Danzig. A new deal on those lines would give us another six months at least, perhaps a year, to prepare; and by that time we’d be in a far better state to face the real showdown.’

  ‘I entirely agree, but the devil of it is that we don’t know how far Mack is prepared to give way to the Germans. If it’s only Danzig, well and good, but if this deal involves the Corridor as well and other frontier rectifications in Silesia, that will be a very different matter. We know what happened to the Czechs, and we dare not allow the same thing to happen here. The Poles are a nation of thirty-five million people, and first-class fighters at that. If it is a choice of another few months to rearm, against Poland’s becoming a German province, like Czechoslovakia, before the party even starts, we had far better face the music now.’

  ‘Yes, I quite see that,’ Richard agreed; ‘but you haven’t told me yet what you’ve found out up to now.’

  For the next few minutes de Richleau gave a short résumé of events since the arrival of General Mack and his friends at Lubieszow, then Richard said:

  ‘It doesn’t look too good, does it? From what you say I haven’t a doubt that Mack is prepared to sell us out, but if nothing is definitely settled yet there’s still a chance that Hitler may refuse to pay his price and that he’ll decide to dig in his toes and fight. And if that happened after you had tipped off Whitehall and Chamberlain had decided that he was justified in ratting on the Poles there would be a ghastly mess.’

  ‘Yes, even a few days’ delay in our coming in, if the Poles do fight, might prove disastrous; because, if we failed to declare war on Germany at once, they might feel that it was hopeless to try to fight the Nazis on their own and throw in their hand after the initial clashes on the frontier. Then Hitler would have Poland in the bag with scarcely a shot fired.’