Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

I

Marie Lou gave a little wriggle of her shoulders and her new dress settled gracefully round her slender figure. She looked at herself gravely in the long mirror. It was a pretty frock — in fact the prettiest frock that Marie Lou had ever seen. She wondered if Richard would like it as much as she did.

Tonight there was to be a party. It was just forty-eight hours since their arrival in Vienna, and so they were to celebrate their freedom.

On the morning after their escape out of Russia the Duke had taken the train to Bucharest. He went to secure, through the Embassy, a temporary legalization of their position for the satisfaction of the Rumanian police, and also to get passports for them to travel to Vienna.

With a humorous look De Richleau had suggested, before his departure, that Richard should proceed to Vienna alone. Someone must make the necessary arrangements for their arrival, and send off telegrams for clothes to be sent to them by air from London. Richard had not seemed pleased at the idea; Simon’s wound had been badly inflamed by his race for life, and Marie Lou must stay and nurse him. Richard thought he ought to stay too. “Just in case,” he explained, with a vague wave of his hand. No one was indiscreet enough to press for an explanation of this hypothetical emergency, and he seemed quite ready for Rex to take his ’plane and do the job, so it was arranged thus. They had had to stay three nights in the little Rumanian village near the frontier. By that time Simon was recovered, and the Duke returned. They reached Vienna the following evening.

There was a knock on the bedroom door; Marie Lou knew that knock by now. “Come in,” she called, gaily.

“You are comfy here?” Richard remarked, looking round the well-equipped room.

“Why, yes,” she replied, as she thought how terribly attractive he looked in his evening clothes. “It is so lovely that I almost regret to leave it for the restaurant or the shops. But are you not comfortable at your hotel?”

“Oh, I’m all right, but something’s gone wrong with the central heating since the afternoon. It was as cold as Siberia when I changed just now.” He held out a spray of catlias with a smile.

“Richard — how lovely.” She took the orchids. “You spoil me terribly. Look at all the lovely flowers you sent me this morning.” She waved her hand towards the roses and lilies that stood about making the room a perfect bower.

“I’m so glad you like them,” he said, softly.

She felt herself blushing under his gaze, and moving quickly over to the dressing-table, pinned on the orchids.

“I am so sorry you are miserable at your hotel,” she said, not looking at him.

“They’ll put it right,” he remarked, casually. “It’ll be on again by the time I get back tonight.”

“Richard,” she said, after a moment. “Would you mind if I came down to you in the lounge? I have one little matter that I would like to see to.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he had gone Marie Lou picked up the house telephone; all their party, with the exception of Richard, were staying at the same hotel; she tried De Richleau’s room, but could get no reply, then she tried Rex — he was still dressing.

A wicked little smile lurked round the corners of her mouth while she was talking to him — his laughter came clearly over the line. “Sure,” he said, chuckling. “Sure, I’ll fix it!”

“And you won’t tell?” she begged.

“Not on your life. You leave it all to me.”

Marie Lou’s little face was grave as she hung up the receiver.

II

The Duke was in his dressing-gown, the brilliantly coloured robe of honour of a Chinese mandarin. The house telephone tinkled, and he picked it up. He thought that he had heard it ring a few moments before, when he was in his bath.

“Yes,” he answered. “This is the Duke de Richleau ... who? Herr Murenberg?... I don’t think that I ... what?... he says that I shall remember him as Fritz of the Baumgarten?... ah, yes, of course, let him come up.”

A few minutes later an official in a handsome uniform was shown into the Duke’s room.

De Richleau extended his hand. “My dear Fritz, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

Herr Murenberg took the Duke’s hand with marked deference, he clicked his heels and bowed low over it. “For me also, Altesse.”

“How many years is it since I have last seen you? Fifteen — no, twenty it must be — dear me, but you have prospered, my dear Fritz.” De Richleau patted the Austrian on the shoulder. “What a fine uniform you have got, to be sure.”

Herr Murenberg bowed and smiled again. “I hope, Altesse, you will be kind enough to forget the little restaurant where you so often gave me your patronage in the old days, many things are changed since then, although I remember your kindness with much gratitude.”

“That would be impossible, my dear fellow; many of my most cherished memories have an association with the dear old Baumgarten which you used to run so well. Nevertheless I am delighted to think that the upheaval of the War has brought good fortune to one of my friends at least. What splendid position has Fate decreed for you?”

“I am deputy chief of the police, Altesse; that I knew many languages has stood me in good stead.”

“Dear me,” the Duke made a grimace. “I — er — trust that this is not an official visit?”

“I fear, yes, Altesse,” he bowed again. “It is a serious matter that I come upon.”

“Sit down, my friend. Let us hear how I have broken the laws of your delightful city.”

The Chief of Police sat gingerly on the extreme edge of an arm-chair. “Unfortunately, Altesse, it is not here that you have offended — if that were so...” he spread out his hands, “it would be my pleasure to put the matter right; it seems that you have come from Russia?”

De Richleau’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he admitted, “that is so.”

Murenberg was obviously troubled. “Altesse, in the old days you were a gentleman who liked his amusements; the cabmen of Vienna, they knew you well — and if you smashed up their cabs with reckless driving after a party — what matter. If you broke a few heads even — you paid handsomely in the morning, and all was well, but now it seems that you have taken to killing men for your amusement — Bolsheviks, it is true, but even so it is a serious thing.”

“Hardly for amusement, my dear Fritz,” the Duke smiled, grimly. “It happened that I was called on to defend myself. I did so to the best of my ability.”

The Chief of Police shook his head sadly, he raised one arched eyebrow, and scratched the back of his neck; he was evidently much troubled. “An order has been applied for — for the extradition of yourself and others, Excellency. What am I to do?”

De Richleau was thinking quickly. “What is the procedure in such cases,” he asked.

“It is my duty to issue a warrant for the arrest of you and your friends.”

“You have not done it yet?”

“No, Altesse, when I saw your name on the paper the memory of the old days came to me, I thought to myself ‘tomorrow will do for this — tonight I will go informally to pay my respects to my old patron’.”

“That was very good of you, Fritz; tell me, what happens when this warrant is executed?”

“There is a man from Russia here. He will identify you; we shall supply an escort to the frontier, and with him you will go back to Moscow to be tried.”

“Do you know the name of the man they have sent?”

“Yes, Altesse. It is an important man, a Kommissar Leshkin. He stays in this hotel.”