Dennis Wheatley - Black August

Once through Greenhithe he halted the convoy and took the lead himself up the steep hill which joins the main road, then round a hairpin bend down the curved black darkness of the Abbey drive shut in by the swaying tree tops. Out into the open again, the river shimmered dully on their left and the big square house loomed up gaunt and stark among its shrubberies to the landward side, against the pale starlight of the summer night.

The lorries turned and parked with military precision, their bonnets towards the gate, ready to set off at any moment. Gregory sent the sergeant to reconnoitre the house and told Rudd to get enough food out of the lorry to provide a good meal for the troops; then he paraded his force, numbered them off by sixes and selected a guard by making every sixth man take a pace to the front. He posted one sentry on the lorries, and one each to the front and back of the house, then sent the remainder, in charge of a corporal, up to the lodge at the entrance to the drive with instructions that another should be posted on the gate and the balance used as relief every two hours throughout the night.

The sergeant returned to make his report: The house is empty, sir, but furnished might be a school or something from the look of things; I was h'obliged to force an entrance.'

'Very good, sergeant. March the men in. They can occupy the whole of the ground floor. Pick any men you want for fatigues from the Greyshirts.' He swung quickly on Harker: 'You've no objection to that, have you? My men are doing guard.'

'No, that's fair enough,' the American nodded.

Sallust turned to Kenyon, Ann, and Veronica who were standing just behind him; 'We may as well go in. Rudd will have some food for us presently, but I will take a little time to get the fires going, I expect.'

Inside, the soldiers had already flung off their heavy accoutrements and were busy securing the best corners in the downstairs rooms for the night. As Gregory glanced about him he remembered how he used to come down by an early train on rejoining ship the first day of the term, in order to bag the softest mattress, and he smiled good naturedly at the men. One room on the ground floor, he noted, was a chapel, panelled with lovely old Flemish carving; in the left hand corner by the altar stood a War Memorial. He glanced at it and saw the long list of names, all Worcester boys, and the sight stirred a chord of memory in his mind. Of course the whole estate had been taken over years before by the Trustees of the Ship. There was a new fellow commanding too, a V.C., who had gingered up the whole concern; seeing to it that the little pink faced cadets, who were later to pass into the Navy or officer the great ocean going liners and British Airways, had, in addition to their seamanship every bit as good an education as could be offered by any public school.

He looked into another room converted into a sick bay and saw with approval that one of the Greyshirts had opened up the medicine chest and was busy treating the cuts and bruises of the wounded.

Rudd had already annexed the Greyshirt, Bob, as his assistant, and they were busy lighting the fire in a room filled with working models of aeroplanes, upstairs. He stood up as Gregory came in.

'Issued the rations?' asked the General.

'Yes, sir! Tinned 'am and beans is wot they get ternight, but I got a little something speshul fer you and the ladies.'

'Good! Did you tell the Corporal of the Guard to keep an eye on that lorry?'

'Yes, sir! Told 'im 'is own muwer wouldn't know 'im termorrer mornin' if there was so much as a pineapple chunk missin' aht of a tin.'

'That's the spirit,' Gregory agreed, as Quartermaster Sergeant batman to the General Lorry Driver Mr. Rudd left the room. Then he undid his Sam Browne belt and flung it into a corner while the others sank wearily on to the stiff backed chairs.

Harker came in. 'I've been having a chat with the boys,' he announced. 'Told them that they'd better muck in with your crowd since we may be together for some little time.'

'Good, we shall be.' Gregory stretched his feet to the blaze. 'What's your name, by and by?'

'Silas Gonderport Harker. What's yours?'

'Gregory Sallust. Do you know these people here by name, I mean?'

The American shook his head.

'Well, the lady with the big eyes is Ann Croome, and this tall chap is Kenyon Fane.' He looked at Veronica and hesitated. 'I'm not quite certain about you myself?'

'Veronica Wensleadale. I'm Fane's sister,' she added.

'I thought so.' He grinned. 'Well, now we all know each other.'

'You are a queer bird for a British General,' said Harker thoughtfully.

'Any complaints?'

'No, none at all.'

'Right. Do you accept my absolute and unquestioned command of this party, or do you wish to clear out with your men?'

'It suits me to stick to you for the time being if you're willing.'

'Good, then let's get below and see if the men are getting their rations.'

Gregory buckled on his belt again and the American followed him out of the room.

'What is he doing in that get up?' asked Ann directly they had gone.

'Do you know him then?' inquired Veronica.

'Of course. He was living in Gloucester Road. He said he was a journalist then.'

'Why worry,' Kenyon shrugged his shoulders wearily. 'He's damned efficient, anyhow.'

Veronica raised her eyebrows. 'But you must admit it's queer.'

'Not really. He must have been doing Secret Service work before.' He sank his head between his hands; it was aching abominably now that the excitement was over.

When Sallust returned he found them sitting in silence, the flickering light of the fire the only relief to the shadows of the room; in another few moments they would all have been sound asleep. Behind him came Rudd, who switched on the lights and began to clear the big table of its charts and models. Ann looked at Gregory and marvelled. His lean face seemed ten years younger and he showed no trace of weariness despite the long day.

Silas Harker appeared carrying a couple of bottles. 'All I could find,' he said. 'The cellar's as dry as a bone so I had to rob the sanatorium.'

'Better than nothing,' Gregory agreed looking at the bottles, 'although I'd give the earth for a quart of champagne.'

Rudd left them again and came back with a steaming dish of sausages and macaroni. 'Sorry, sir,' he apologised, 'but we're out of spuds. There's tinned goosegogs an' a bit of cheese to foiler will that be all right?'

'Excellent.' Sallust drew his chair to the top of the table. 'Let us go in to dinner,' he observed dryly; 'Harker, will you take the bottom of the table and act as Mr. Vice?'

The American's plump face wrinkled into a smile. 'Just what does that mean?'

'Quite simple. After we've fed, Rudd will serve the Invalid Port, I shall stand up and say “Mr. Vice, The King!” you will then spring smartly to your feet and say: “Ladies and Gentlemen, The King!” upon which we shall all drain a bumper to His Majesty. That clear?'

'Sure,' Harker grinned.

'Right, we shall then, ladies and gentlemen, return the compliment to my second in command by drinking the health of the President of the United States after which we shall sink into a drunken slumber. Let's eat the sausages while they're hot.'

His queer ironic humour had the effect of rousing the others from their lethargy. They had eaten nothing for the best part of twelve hours, and once they tasted food they fell to ravenously.

For twenty minutes they laughed and ate, forgetting for the moment their strange situation. The toasts were drunk as the General had directed, then he lit a cigarette and sank back in his chair.

'We'll get some sleep in a minute,' he announced, 'but first I want to talk to you. I suppose you realise that we are all in an appalling mess?'