Dennis Wheatley - They Used Dark Forces

Gregory guessed at once that he must be Willi von Altern and when they had been introduced the German said slowly, `A friend of my cousin's? No, I do not remember you. But you are welcome.'

His pale blue eyes then wandered to his cousin's wife. Screwing up his face he stared at her for a minute with a puzzled expression then, evidently remembering why he had come into the room, he exclaimed in a sudden burst of anger:

'Khurrem, your drinking always makes you late for meals. To keep them waiting is not right. They have had a long day's work and are hungry. Come now!'

Frau von Altern merely shrugged her thin shoulders; but she tossed off her drink, waited for a moment until Gregory had hastily swallowed his, then led the way through a long corridor, in which the walls were stained with damp, to a barn-like hall with a timber roof at the back of the house. In it about a dozen women, three elderly men and a few young boys were standing an either side of a very long, solidly built table. Their mistress took her place at its head, with Gregory and Willi on either side of her, and said a brief grace; then, except for some of the younger women who scurried into the adjacent kitchen to return with steaming dishes of food, they all sat down.

Gregory had been aware that at large farms in the more sparsely populated parts of Europe some families who had lived on them for generations still followed the ancient custom of feeding with their farm servants, and he noticed with interest that an empty space of several feet had been left Between himself and the nearest labourer; for it was there that in mediaeval times would have reposed the dish of salt…Kuporovitch, of course, was below it, but had placed himself between two fresh-complexioned, if bovine, land girls.

The food was plain but good and plentiful; the dishes with the best pieces being offered first at the top of the table. Willi filled his plate high with masses of meat and vegetables and gorged himself throughout the meal in silence. Khurrem von Altern barely touched her food but carried, on a desultory conversation with Gregory about crops and the farm problems with which she was called on to deal.

He later learned that her first name was Turkish for `Joyous', but few appellations could have been less suited to her. In the present company she seemed particularly out of place, as she never even smiled, whereas at the other end of the table the latter of knives and forks was constantly punctuated by giggles at some farmyard jest and bursts of uninhibited laughter. With the exception of Gregory, too, everyone else at the table was a Nordic, so Khurrem's dark-complexioned face contrasted strangely with the apple cheeks, blue eyes and corn coloured hair of the other women. Had she had black hair the contrast would have been even more strongly marked. That it was red Gregory put down to her having had a Circassian mother, but that in no way disguised the fact that she was an Asiatic.

When they had finished eating, Willi bade them an abrupt good night' and went up to bed. Khurrem apologized to Gregory that time had not allowed her to suggest that he might like a wash before the meal then took him upstairs and showed him first an eighteen-foot-square bathroom which had an ancient bath in one corner, in another an unlit wood stove and in a third a small basin; then, some way down. a gloomy corridor, the room he was to sleep in. There she left him.

The furniture was in keeping with that downstairs, the principal item being a big, brass-headed double bed having only one blanket but two huge, square, down-filled cushions such as were commonly seen in German houses in the last century taking the place of an eiderdown. Dubiously he explored it to find, as he had expected, that instead of a spring mattress it had only a thin one of horsehair and below that a criss-cross of thin iron bands.

Kuporovitch had already unpacked for him, so, having made certain that the suitcase containing the wireless was still locked, he collected his sponge bag and walked along to the bathroom for a cold wash. Twenty minutes later he went downstairs and joined Khurrem in the long, low sitting room.

She had started a gramophone and was listening to a Beethoven symphony; so without remark he sat down opposite her. Once again she had a glass in her hand and by this time any normal woman must have shown signs of the amount of brandy she had drunk. That she did not he put down to the probability that she was an habitual `soak'.

He thought it a little strange that, having consulted her father before agreeing to receive himself and Kuporovitch at Sassen, she had not yet presented them to him. But as she had said that the doctor was something of a recluse that would account for his taking his meals in solitude rather than in the communal dining hall; and it might be that he spent his evenings in study, so was averse to being disturbed.

For the moment Gregory was amply satisfied with the progress he had made. To have spent a night at the Konigin Augusta in Grimmen without arousing the least suspicion that they had entered Germany clandestinely, to have successfully made the most promising contact in the area that S.O.E. could suggest and found her willing to co-operate, to be established already as a welcome guest in the home of a deceased Prussian aristocrat and have a lead to a Nazi official who must know quite a bit about what was going on at Peenemьnde, was considerably more than he could have reasonably hoped for in so short a time; so, as the shadows fell, he settled down to listen to the records Khurrem put on until it should be time to go to bed.

But his experiences for that day were not yet over. Soon after darkness had fallen Khurrem suddenly got up, switched off the gramophone, stood as though listening for a moment, then said, `My father now wishes to see you and your companion.'

Without waiting for him to reply she went out into the hall, rang the hand bell for the old houseman and sent him to fetch Kuporovitch. Immediately the Russian joined them she threw open the front door and beckoned them to follow her. As they crossed the courtyard she satisfied their curiosity at her having left the house by saying:

`We have not far to go; only a few hundred yards up the road to the old Castle in which the von Alterns lived before they built the Manor. The greater part of it is now a ruin. But my 'father likes solitude so we made a few rooms in it habitable for him and he is looked after there by his own servant.'

The moon had not yet risen, but, as they advanced, they saw a little way off the road, silhouetted against the night sky, the jagged outline of a crumbling tower and below it a huddle of uneven roofs. Leaving the road, they followed a winding path through some tall bushes until they came out into a small clearing adjacent to one side of the ruin. The light was just sufficient for them to make out a low, arched doorway mid-way Between two arrow slits. Stepping up to it, Khurrem grasped an iron bell-pull and jerked it down. A bell jangled hollowly somewhere inside the ancient ruin. Almost at once the heavy door swung open and a swarthy hunchback of uncertain age silently ushered them in.

Without exchanging a word with him she led them down a dimly-lit stone-flagged passage and opened another heavy door, on the right at its end. Momentarily they were dazzled, for the room into which they followed her was brightly lit by a big, solitary, incandescent mantle which, from its faint hissing, appeared to be powered by some form of gas.

The burner stood on a large desk in the middle of the room.

Behind it a man was sitting, but the bright light prevented his visitors from making out his features until he stood up and came forward. They then saw that he was tall and gaunt, looked to be in his late fifties and had a marked resemblance to Khurrem; but his hair was black flecked with grey, his nose more hooked but thinner, his complexion darker and his full mouth more sensual. His eyes were black and slightly hooded, but his smile was pleasant as Khurrem said, 'Herren, this is my father, Dr. Ibrahim Malacou.'