Evil in a Mask by Dennis Wheatley Read Free Book Online Page A

had been knocked out in a brawl. In his belt he carried a knout with a long leather thong. Drawing it, he playfully flicked each of the prisoners in turn. Roger felt the sting of the lash on his calf and could hardly suppress a cry. The Sergeant took it stoically. Young Hans Hoffman let out a groan, Corporal Vitu responded with a spate of curses.
    The Baron and Baroness laughed heartily; then, accompanied by Kutzie, they descended the ladder and made their way back to the castle.
    German was Hoffman’s native tongue and, during the campaign, Fournier and Vitu had picked up enough of it to have got the gist of what the Baron had said. When their captors had disappeared, the Sergeant rumbled, ‘May all the devils in hell take them. What are we to do, Colonel?’
    â€˜Plan a way to escape,’ replied Roger grimly.
    â€˜It’s all very well for Your High and Mightiness to say that,’ sneered Vitu. ‘Hopelessly lamed by our wounds as we are, how can we?’
    â€˜Shut your trap!’ bellowed the Sergeant. ‘Or when we get back, I’ll crime you for disrespect to an officer.’
    Temporarily Roger ignored the Corporal’s insolence and said, ‘We shall have to be patient; wait until our wounds are healed. Meanwhile our best policy will be to give these people no trouble and allow them to believe that we are resigned to our fate. It is getting dark again, and the more sleep we get,the sooner we’ll recover. We’ll talk things over in the morning.’
    With no more said, but mostly gloomy thoughts, they wriggled down into the hay and made themselves as comfortable as they could for the night.
    They all woke early. For the first time Roger took careful stock of his companions, and asked them about themselves.
    Sergeant Fournier was a typical old soldier, with one ear shot away and a thick, drooping moustache. As a ragged
sans culotte
he had been with Kellermann at Valmay, that most extraordinary turning point in history, where the French, merely by standing fast and firing their cannon, had broken the Austrian attack, caused consternation in their aged commander and led him to abandon the attempt to invade France. Fournier had then served under Lannes in the glorious campaign in Italy in ’96, been transferred to the Army of the Rhine, distinguished himself in General Moreau’s great victory at Hohenlinden, later been promoted to the Consular—now the Imperial—Guard and had since been present at all Napoleon’s battles. He was forty-two, but his lined face made him look much older. He had been wounded seven times and been decorated with the
Légion d’Honneur
. He was a Revolutionary of the old school, yet regarded the Emperor as his God, and his own Commander of the Imperial Guard, young Marshal Bessieres, with admiring awe. Roger knew that in him at least he had one man he could rely on.
    Hans Hoffman was a nonentity. He was one of the many thousands of teenagers from the Rhineland whom Napoleon had forced the minor sovereigns, who had perforce become his allies, to conscript and send to aid him in his campaign. Secretly Hoffman loathed the French and, given the opportunity, would have deserted; but lacked the courage.
    Corporal Vitu was a very different type. The son of a lawyer who had been prominent in the early days of the Revolution, he was a well-educated man in his late twenties; married and with one son. Even so, he had not been able to escape the call-up by which, now ahead of schedule, the Emperor was compelled to recruit fresh levies to make good the losses ofhis armies. Vitu had a thin, bitter mouth and a long nose. He was fluent, knowledgeable and aggressive; and Roger soon sized him up as a born trouble-maker.
    When they talked over their situation, Vitu said, ‘I’ll take a chance and attempt to escape when the time is ripe. But I’ll not return to the Army.’
    â€˜You will,’ Fournier declared hotly.