Strange Conflict (2 page)

‘You old fox! Cornered me, eh? All right. I'm close to the War Cabinet.
Why,
God knows! But some of the people there still seem to think I'm useful, although everybody knows that I've no brains. I've always had an eye for a horse or a pretty woman and an infinite capacity for vintage port; but no brains—no brains at all.'

‘That,' murmured the Duke, ‘accounts for the fact that after being compelled to leave the Army because of your debts, somewhere way back in the ‘90's, you managed to amass a fortune of a cool ten million. Am I to take it that you have been sent to see me?'

‘No. But it amounts to the same thing. My powers are pretty wide. I can't get people shot, as I would like to, for criminal negligence, but I've been instrumental in getting some of our slower movers sacked, and most of my recommendations go through except where they come into direct conflict with government policy. Unofficially, too, I've been able to initiate various little matters which have given the Nazis a pain in the neck. We're all in this thing together, and when I saw you admiring the ducks in St. James's Park the other day I had a hunch that you might be the very man to help us in something that at the moment is giving the Government very grave concern.
Now
will you tell me what you've been up to?'

De Richleau swivelled the old brandy in the medium-sized ballon-shaped glass that he was holding, sniffed its ethers appreciatively and replied: ‘Certainly. Before Britain declared war on Germany I flew with some friends of mine to Poland.'

Sir Pellinore gave him a sharp glance. ‘The fellers who accompanied you on your Russian and Spanish exploits? I remember hearing about your adventures in the Forbidden Territory and later that fantastic story of the eight million pounds in gold that the four of you got out of Spain during the Civil War. One was the son of old Chan-nock Van Ryn, the American banker, wasn't he? I've never met the other two, but I'd like to some time.'

‘Rex Van Ryn is the one of whom you're thinking; the
other two are Richard Eaton and Simon Aron. All three of them were with me through the Polish Campaign. What we did there is far too long a story to tell now, but I'll give it to you some time. We got out by the skin of our teeth in a manner which was most inconvenient for certain persons; but, that, of course, was entirely their affair for trying to stop us. When we eventually arrived back in England no particular opening offered in which we could work together, so we decided to split up.'

‘What happened to the others?'

‘Rex, as you may know, is an ace airman, and although he's an American citizen he managed to wangle his way into the Royal Air Force. He did magnificent work in the battles of August and September and was awarded the D.F.C.; but early in October he ran into a flock of Nazis where the odds were six to one, and they got him. His left leg was badly smashed. He's well on the road to recovery now, but I'm afraid his wounds will prevent him from flying as a fighter-pilot any more.

‘Simon Aron went back to his counting-house. He is a director of one of our big financial houses and he felt that he could give his best service to the country by helping the dollar position and in all the intricacies of foreign exchange that he understands so well.

‘Richard Eaton is an airman, too, but he's over age for a fighter-pilot so they wouldn't take him—which made poor Richard very sick. But he has a big place down in Worcestershire, so he went in at once for intensive farming. However, he comes to London now and again to console himself for not being able to do anything more actively offensive in the war, by helping me in one or two little jobs that I've been fortunate enough to be able to take on.'

‘What sort of jobs?' boomed Sir Pellinore.

‘Details would only bore you but, like yourself, I have many friends and I also speak several languages with considerable fluency, so here and there I've been tipped off to keep my eyes open and I've been successful in putting a number of unpleasant people behind the bars. Incidentally, I made a secret trip to Czechoslovakia last spring and I've been in the Low Countries since the German occupation— in fact, I only got back last week. But of course I have no official position—no official position at all.'

Sir Pellinore's blue eyes twinkled. ‘You certainly haven't let the grass grow under your feet. As a matter of fact, I had it through official channels that you had been making yourself pretty useful in a variety of ways, because I made inquiries before coming along to see you tonight, although I didn't press for details. What are you up to now?'

‘Nothing of any great importance. Just keeping my eye on a few people who in any other country but this would have been put against a wall well over a year ago, and trying to trace various leakages of information which come from people who regard themselves as patriotic citizens but talk too much to the ladies of their acquaintance. There is nothing at all to prevent me from packing a bag and leaving for Kamchatka or Peru tomorrow morning if you feel that by so doing I could drive another nail into Hitler's coffin.'

‘That's the sort of thing I like to hear,' roared Sir Pellinore. ‘Wish to God some of the people in our government departments showed the same keenness to get these German swine under. But I don't think we'll have to call on you even to leave London—although one can never tell. It's the use of that fine brain of yours I want, and you mentioned the subject yourself only a moment ago when you spoke of leakage of information.'

De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. ‘I shouldn't have thought there was any grave cause to worry about that. Even the smallest indiscretions should be jumped on, of course, but from all I've gathered very little important stuff has got through since all normal communications with the Continent was severed after the collapse of France.'

‘In a way you're right.' Sir Pellinore nodded his white head. ‘We ourselves were amazed in the difference that made. For example, when the first major air-attacks on this country started many of us were acutely anxious about the Air Force. We feared that by sheer weight of numbers the Germans would smash more planes on the ground than we could possibly afford to lose. As everybody knows now, we cleared all our airfields on the south and east coasts before the attack developed, so that there was nothing left for the Nazis to smash except the empty hangars and machine shops. Directly they had done that we expected them to start on our new bases, but they didn't; they kept on hammering day after day at the old ones
when there was nothing left but burnt-out sheds for them to strike at; which proved quite definitely that they hadn't the faintest idea that we had ever shifted our planes at all. That's ancient history now, of course, but in all sorts of other ways the same thing has gone on in recent months, demonstrating beyond doubt that once the German agents here were cut off from the Continent their whole system of conveying information speedily to the enemy had broken down.'

‘I don't understand, then, what you're worrying about.'

‘The fact that it has not broken down in one particular direction. The biggest menace that we're up against at the moment is our shipping losses, and the extraordinary thing is that although the Nazis now seem to have only the vaguest idea of what is going on here in every other direction, they have our shipping arrangements absolutely taped. Naturally, every convoy that sails to or from America is sent by a different route. Sometimes they go right up into the Arctic, sometimes as far south as Madeira, and sometimes dead-straight across; but, whichever way we choose, the Nazis seem to know about it. They meet each convoy in mid-Atlantic after its escort has left it, just as though they were keeping a prearranged appointment.'

‘That
is
pretty grim.'

‘Yes. It's no laughing matter; and to be quite honest we're at our wits' end. The Navy is working night and day, and the Air Arm too; but the sea and sky are big places. Our Intelligence people have done their damn'dest—and they're pretty hot—whatever uninformed people may think about them—but just this one thing seems to have got them beaten.'

‘Why should you imagine that I might succeed where the best brains in our Intelligence have failed?' asked the Duke mildly.

‘Because I feel that our only chance now is to get an entirely fresh mind on the subject; someone who isn't fogged by knowing too much detail and having his nose too close to the charts, yet someone who has imagination and a great reservoir of general knowledge. The Nazis must be using some channel which is quite outside normal espionage methods—the sort of thing to which there is no clue but that anyone with a shrewd mind might happen on by chance.
That's why, when I saw you the other day, it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to put this damnable problem up to you.'

De Richleau stared at Sir Pellinore for a moment. ‘You are absolutely certain that the Nazi Intelligence are not using any normal method of communication in this thing?'

‘Absolutely. The fact that all sorts of other vital information does not get through proves it.'

Then, if they are not using normal methods, they must be using subnormal—or rather, the supernatural.'

It was Sir Pellinore's turn to stare. ‘What the blazes d'you mean?' he boomed abruptly.

The Duke leant forward and gently knocked the inch-long piece of ash from his cigar into the onyx ash-tray as he said: ‘That they are using what for lack of a better term is called Black Magic.'

‘You're joking!' gasped Sir Pellinore.

‘On the contrary,' said the Duke quietly: ‘I was never more serious in my life.'

A strange expression crept into Sir Pellinore's blue eyes. He had known the Duke for many years, but never intimately; only as one of that vast army of acquaintances who drifted across his path from time to time for a brief weekend at a country-house, in the smoking-room of a West End club or during the season at fashionable resorts such as Deauville. He had often heard de Richleau spoken of as a man of dauntless courage and infinite resource, but also as a person whom normal people might well regard as eccentric. The Duke had never been seen in a bowler-hat or wielding that emblem of English respectability, an umbrella. Instead, when he walked abroad he carried a beautiful Malacca cane. In peace-time he drove about London in a huge silver Hispano with a chauffeur and footman on the box, both dressed like Cossacks and wearing tall, grey, astrakhan
papenkas.
Some people considered that the most vulgar ostentation, while to the Duke himself it was only a deplorable substitute for the sixteen outriders who had habitually preceded his forebears in more spacious days. Sir Pellinore being a broad-minded man had put these little foibles down to the Duke's foreign ancestry, but it now occurred to him that in some respects de Richleau had probably always been slightly abnormal and that, although he appeared perfectly sane, a near miss from a Nazi bomb might recently have unhinged his brain.

‘Black Magic, eh?' he said with unwonted gentleness. ‘Most interesting theory. Well, if you—er—get any more ideas on the subject you must let me know.'

‘I shall be delighted to do so,' replied the Duke with suave courtesy. ‘And now I will tell you what has just been passing through your mind. You have been thinking: “I've drawn a blank here; this fellow's no good; he's got a screw loose; probably sustained concussion in an air-raid. Pity, as I was rather hoping that he might produce some practical suggestions for the Intelligence people to work on. As it is, I must remember to tell my secretary to put him off politely if he rings up—one can't waste time with fellows who've gone nuts, while there's a war on.”'

‘Damme!' Sir Pellinore thumped the table with his huge fist. ‘You're right, Duke; I admit it. But you must agree that no sane person could take your suggestion seriously.'

‘I wouldn't go as far as that, but I would agree that anyone who has no personal knowledge of the occult is quite entitled to disbelieve in it. I assume that you've never witnessed the materialisation of an astral force or, to put it into common parlance “seen a ghost” with your own eyes?'

‘Never,' said Sir Pellinore emphatically.

‘D'you know anything of hypnotism?'

‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I'm gifted with slight hypnotic powers myself. When I was a young man I sometimes used to amuse my friends by giving mild demonstrations, and I've often found that I can make people do minor things, such as opening up on a particular subject, merely by willing them to do so.'

‘Good. Then at least we're at one on the fact that certain forces can be called into play which the average person does not understand.'

‘I suppose so, within limits.'

‘Why “within limits”? Surely, fifty years ago you would have considered wireless to be utterly outside such limits if somebody had endeavoured to convince you that messages and even pictures could be transferred from one end of the world to the other upon ether waves.'

‘Of course,' Sir Pellinore boomed. ‘But wireless is different; and as for hypnotism, that's simply the power of the human will.'

‘Ah, there you have it.' The Duke sat forward suddenly. ‘
The will to good
and
the will to evil.
That is the whole matter in a nutshell. The human will is like a wireless set
and when properly adjusted can tune in with the invisible influences which are all about us.'

‘Invisible influences, eh? No, I'm sorry, Duke, I just don't believe in such things.'

‘Do you believe in the miracles performed by Jesus Christ?'

‘Yes. I'm old-fashioned enough to have remained an unquestioning believer in the Christian faith, although God knows I've committed enough sins in my time.'

‘You also believe, then, in the miracles performed by Christ's disciples and certain of the Saints?'