They Used Dark Forces by Dennis Wheatley Read Free Book Online Page B

brass hand bell. An old, bald-headed servant answered her summons and she said to him:
    â€˜Friedrich, here is our guest, Herr Major Bodenstein, about whom I spoke to you. His servant will take his bags up to his room. Show him the way and to the room he is to occupy himself, then take him down to the kitchen quarters.’
    The old man shuffled away, followed by Kuporovitch, while she took Gregory into a long, low living room. The furniture was German Victorian and hideous. Evidently aware of that, his hostess remarked, ‘As my husband was an Army officer he came here only for the shooting, so he would never spend any money on the place, but I hope you will not find your bed too uncomfortable.’ As she spoke, she opened a pinewood chiffonier and added, ‘We have just time for a drink before the evening meal.’
    The choice was limited to
Branntwein
, schnapps and parsnip wine, so Gregory chose the brandy and water. His hostess had only just poured the drinks when a tall, flaxen-haired man of about thirty-five limped into the room. He was a strong-limbed fellow and had the ‘barber’s-block’ good looks so often seen in the Teutonic male, but they were sadly marred by a terrible scar high up across his forehead.
    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:
    â€˜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 dozenwomen, three elderly men and a few young boys were standing on 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 clatter 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