Complete works of peter.., p.332
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 332
He was thinking about Seitzen and the arrangements they had just concluded. Life was damned funny, thought Hiltsch.
He walked down the wet earthen pathway on to the dirt road. The mud squelched beneath his well-polished shoes. He thought, regretfully, that he should have changed them before he came out.
He walked along the road that led towards the village. On the way he began to think about the old days in Munich and Bremen. The brave old days when National Socialism was a word to conjure with and to be a Party Member meant something. Hiltsch wondered if those days would ever come again. He thought not. Nothing ever happened twice. One had an experience and that was the end of it. Life was like a love affair. It was all right when things were good, but it was no use trying to resuscitate anything. You couldn't—even if you wanted to. Especially friendships with men and affaires with women. When they were dead they were dead, and that was that.
He stopped to light a cigarette, shielding the flame of his lighter with his cupped hand. The hand was strong, well-shaped—a practical hand. But then Hiltsch was a practical man—definitely practical. If you wanted to work for Karl Hildebrand and succeed, you had to be practical, and a dozen other things too....
He turned off the road and took the pathway that ran, through the plantation, behind the house. He experienced a certain feeling of satisfaction in pushing through the wet tree branches, in feeling the heavy drops of rain fall on his face.
Now he was behind the house and near it. He moved quietly and easily, treading carefully. As he came round the far side of the house he looked up towards Seitzen's window, noted that no crack of light showed through the tear in the dark curtain.
He flicked away his cigarette stub, moved towards the garage—a shed on the right of the house. He unlocked and opened the doors deftly in the darkness, got into the car, started it up, backed slowly out. As he turned on to the dirt road he looked up again at Seitzen's window. He shrugged his shoulders. Seitzen would be asleep. Nerves or no nerves, the fat Wurtemburger slept like a pig immediately his head touched the pillow.
Hiltsch drove slowly down the dirt road until he came to the intersection. He swung right, switched on his parking lights, headed for Dublin. He put his foot down hard on the accelerator.
He began to sing softly to himself—a Nazi marching song—one of the songs they used to sing in the good old days with the twenty-fourth Standarte in Bremen.
Hildebrand looked up and smiled as Hiltsch came into the room. He was wearing a black velvet dressing-gown with dark blue cords. He looked distinguished. He fitted into the tastefully-furnished background of the room with its rows of bookshelves.
He said: "I did not expect to see you so soon, Rupprecht. Your drive into Dublin must have been uncomfortable."
Hiltsch helped himself to a cigarette from the silver box on the table. He lit it with satisfaction. His face, in the flame of the lighter, was poised and equable.
He said: "I like sometimes to be uncomfortable, Karl. When one is uncomfortable it means that one appreciates the next comfort that arrives. I am a sensualist. I specialise in sensations."
Hildebrand laughed.
"You are a damned old Nazi trooper, Rupprecht," he said. "But I like you." He got up, stood in front of the glowing fire. "Well," he went on, "why are you here? Something has happened? Something good? You look almost pleased with yourself."
Hiltsch dropped into the big brown leather armchair.
"It is as I thought," he said. "Seitzen is rotten. He has had enough. He is prepared to sell out. He desires to go on living. He agreed with me that we had not much chance of continuing to live going on as we were. He agreed that we were between the devil and the deep sea—that is between you and the English." He laughed.
Hildebrand said: "So...! Well, you always thought that Seitzen would crack. Anyhow you will allow that I gave you a good opening to-night."
Hiltsch nodded. "I thought you were working up for me to try Seitzen out," he said. "I got to work on him immediately you had gone. He fell for it."
Hildebrand's face was serious.
"You know, Rupprecht," he said, "there is too much cracking on the part of our operatives. I have had several cases. Sometimes they have been good Nazis but unable to stand the strain. They have shot themselves or drowned themselves. But nobody—to my knowledge—at least, no real Party Member, has ever thought of selling out to the enemy—except Seitzen."
"He didn't think of it, I did," said Hiltsch with a grin.
The other shrugged. "He liked the idea," he said. "It is the same thing." He lit a cigarette. "And now...?"
Hiltsch said: "I shall do it on my own. I shall leave the day after to-morrow. I shall go to Liverpool and work from there. I gather you have a contact for me in London?"
"Yes?" smiled Hildebrand. "And how did you gather that? It was clever of you."
"It wasn't," said Hiltsch. "You had to find out about that woman of Kane's from somewhere. It isn't easy to get that sort of stuff."
"You are right," said Hildebrand. "It is not easy. Yes, Rupprecht.... I have two contacts for you. Two very good people. The very best people. I assure you they are not Seitzens. And then I am going to give you another one to take with you...."
Hiltsch grunted: "I don't want another one. I don't want any of your goddamned novices pushed on to me for training. I am not a training school. Besides they are always so stupid. They bungle."
Hildebrand held up his hand.
"Not this one," he said. "I assure you. This one is good. Very good. He has been brought up in the right way. Direct into the Jugend, then a year in the Labour Front—in the field and on administration, then a year with the Party. Then a little toughening process." He smiled evilly. "You know... six months in the concentration camp at Haltz being nice to Jews, and another six months under me in the Investigation Room at Columbia House. He is amazing."
He drew on his cigarette with pleasure.
"After that a period of diplomatic training and languages," he went on. "He speaks five. He speaks languages nearly as well as you or I. And he is calm. I have seen him kill a man with a rubber truncheon as casually as one kills a fly. Also... and this is important... the women love him. He looks like that too... even if he isn't like it."
Hiltsch looked up.
"So!" he said. "He isn't like it, hey?"
Hildebrand said: "No... he doesn't like women—much. I think that's a good thing."
Hiltsch grunted.
He said: "My God...! He must be marvellous. You'd better not let the Fuehrer see him. He might be jealous. When can I see this paragon?"
"You can see him now," said Hildebrand. He walked to the other side of the fireplace and pressed a bell. Then he stood in front of the fire, looking towards the door.
Hiltsch screwed round in his chair as the door opened. A young man came into the room. An amazing young man. He was five feet ten inches in height, and he moved with a controlled grace that indicated perfect training. He was slim. When he walked he put his feet on the ground like a cat.
His face was long and oval. His complexion perfect. His skin was as beautiful as a woman's; yet there was nothing effeminate in his appearance. He was blonde, and the wave in his hair, receding and fading out over the nape of his neck, gave him the appearance of a film star above the eyes.
His eyes were blue—rather light blue. When Hiltsch saw the eyes he knew the boy was a killer.
He felt for his cigarette case.
Hildebrand said: "Rupprecht, this is Kurt Nielek. He will work with you. Kurt... this is Rupprecht Hiltsch, once leader of the twenty-fourth Bremen Standarte—one of our most trusted people."
Nielek raised his right arm from the elbow. He said:
"Heil Hitler!"
Hiltsch said: "Heil Hitler!" They shook hands.
Hildebrand watched them. He said:
"You two will be good together. Your enthusiasm and energy, Kurt, tempered with the sage experience, caution and knowledge of Rupprecht...."
He walked over to the oak cupboard let into the bookshelves by the door, opened it, took out a bottle and three glasses. "This champagne came from Soissons," he said. "I had sixty dozen. The owner had no further use for it—after we'd finished with him. Let us drink."
The wine frothed into the glasses.
Hiltsch and Nielek faced each other. They said "Sieg Heil." They drank.
It was raining hard. The rain beat down on the top of the car, and the tyres made a continuous splashing noise. As they went on, the road became worse. The automobile bumped and the springs protested. Once or twice, over bad holes in the road, Hiltsch, who was a first-class driver, had trouble in keeping the wheel steady. Nielek said softly: "This Seitzen, he is, I suppose, the gross type—the type that runs to seed quickly—that becomes tired?"
Hiltsch shrugged his shoulders in the darkness. He was thinking that during the whole time of the journey back Nielek had never moved. He had sat quite still in the passenger seat beside Hiltsch, his hands folded in front of him, his legs stretched and relaxed. Excellent control, thought Hiltsch, perfect relaxation, the result of good physical training and condition. He wondered if Nielek's mind was as flexible and fit as his body.
"Seitzen is the result of circumstances," said Hiltsch. "Circumstances and women—the wrong sort of women—and beer—especially beer. It is almost impossible to drink great quantities of beer—as he does—and remain mentally alert. His brain is soaked in Pilsener and every other sort. Also his women are inclined to be gross and beefy—which is enervating. Also he is a sadist. But the fact that he has a brain that delights in certain twists, and therefore occasionally stirs itself, does not overcome his other disabilities."
He took his cigarette out of his mouth and peered through the windscreen. They were on the dirt road now, and it was very dark.
"He joined the Party when it was well established," Hiltsch went on. "And then he was much slimmer than he is now. He was enthusiastic too. He became very fond of some woman who used to serve in a Bierstube. And it was perhaps unfortunate that his Group Leader also fancied her. The woman preferred Seitzen, which annoyed the Group Leader, and he had the woman arrested on suspicion and sent to Columbia House. He undertook her examination personally, and I bet she had a hell of a time. She was sent to a concentration camp afterwards and died. All this did not please Seitzen very much. He became broody and took to drinking. But he had not lost all his keenness."
Nielek said: "That sort of business should be stamped out. When Party Members begin to disagree over women and use the organisation for their own purposes—as Seitzen's Leader did, well... that is not good. I would never allow that sort of thing if I were in charge."
Hiltsch grinned. "You'd have a hell of a job stopping people using the organisation for their own purposes—especially where women are concerned. It doesn't hurt to give people their heads sometimes. After all, power is power, and if a woman won't listen to reason in the ordinary way, and a man is sufficiently important to be able to fake a charge against her and make her listen to reason, he wouldn't be human if he didn't try it—would he?" He looked sideways at his companion.
Nielek said: "I am not particularly interested in women."
"No," said Hiltsch. "I didn't think you were."
Nielek said: "Tell me some more about Seitzen, please."
"He went into administration," said Hiltsch, "and that finished him off. While he had to run around and use his muscles, there was hope for him, but when they sent him to Jugend administration and he had nothing to do but sit at a desk and sign papers he got fat and sleazy. Sometimes I used to go and see him. Every night was a thick night for Seitzen, and when he arrived at his office in the morning he looked like the wrath of God. But he did his job. He was promoted. He went to Labour Front Headquarters for a year on the financial side. Then, as you probably know, there was a general Party shake up, and all the Berlin people who had been sitting on their backsides in offices were pushed out to do active jobs. Seitzen asked to go to Intelligence. He asked to go to Intelligence because he thought that he might be put in one of the Army Sections. He'd done a course in that department. But they didn't fall for it. They sent him to one of the Gestapo sub-sectors, and he had a lousy time for six or seven months running around doing liaison work with the Police, and Party Secret Service squads. He didn't like that a bit. Then he volunteered for special employment because he thought anything would be good for a change. He got it. He was posted to Hildebrand's Special Section, and he's been there ever since."
Nielek nodded. "Hildebrand doesn't like him?" he asked.
Hiltsch grunted. "Hildebrand doesn't like or dislike anybody," he said. "He's damned efficient and he wants results. He's done well... damned well. Naturally, he wants keen people working under him. Enthusiastic people. He knows that if people don't have some sort of enthusiasm for the type of work we do they're no good to anyone."
"He thinks a lot of you," said Nielek. "He says the nicest things about you."
"Why shouldn't he?" said Hiltsch. "I've taken some goddam chances since I've been working with him and he knows it."
"You like taking chances, don't you?" said Nielek.
"No... not particularly." Hiltsch threw his cigarette stub out of the half-opened window. "But this type of work fascinates me. It's like gambling. You're wondering all the time just how long you're going to get away with it. Another thing is that it's worth while in one way. You take big chances, of course, but so does a fellow fighting in the Army. Look at the time the men on the Russian front are having, for instance. But when we've won this war—as we shall do this year—those of us who get through will be in line for the big jobs. We shall be sitting pretty on our backsides in the occupied countries. We shall be safe. We shall have the pick of everything."
The dirt road narrowed. Hiltsch slowed down. He drove very carefully. Presently they came to the cross roads.
"The cottage is a few hundred yards away," said Hiltsch. "We'll put the car up. Seitzen is asleep. He sleeps like a pig. We'll have a drink—I have some good hock—and I want to change my shoes. They're a little wet. After that we'll go and talk to Seitzen."
Hiltsch made up the fire. He put on the pieces of coal deftly and without noise. He had taken off his shoes and was wearing a pair of felt slippers lined with dark fur. A woman in Potsdam had made them for him. Every time Hiltsch put on the slippers he remembered the woman. She was big and blonde and she had very blue eyes. She liked to eat and drink, and more than anything else she liked Hiltsch. She liked him so much that he had asked her why, and she had tried to explain and failed. And every time he put on the slippers he wondered about her. She had told him that he had the ability to "ring the bell" as far as she was concerned more than any man she had ever met in her life before. Hiltsch was not quite certain what she meant by "ringing the bell." He had an idea, but was not sure. Usually, when he took the slippers off before going to bed at night, he would make up his mind to ask her to explain more clearly if and when he saw her again.
The fire began to burn brightly. Hiltsch went to the sideboard, took out a slender bottle of hock and two glasses. He poured out the golden wine and handed a glass to Nielek.
Nielek was standing on one side of the fire. He took the glass in his right hand. They said "Sieg Heil," and drank.
Nielek said: "This wine is good. There is no wine like hock. I seldom drink, but when I do I drink hock. It tastes clean."
"All our German drinks are good," said Hiltsch. He refilled the glasses. "And our food and everything else. The British are the only other people who eat and drink really well. The rest of the world eats trash and drinks wine that tastes like vinegar."
He put his empty glass down on the table. He said to Nielek:
"Are you ready for our friend?"
"Quite," said Nielek. Hiltsch noticed that he was entirely relaxed. His lips were relaxed and his shoulders and body. His eyes did not alter. They were light blue and hard. Their colour seemed metallic.
Hiltsch led the way out of the room and across the hallway. He went up the stairs that curved round and met the short passage at the top. He stopped at the second door, opened it, flicked on the electric light. He stood to one side of the door so that Nielek could enter. Facing the door was the bed. Seitzen was asleep in it. His bulk seemed greater under the bedclothes. Hiltsch thought again that Seitzen slept like a Wurtemburg pig—which was what he was.
Nielek stood just inside the door, which he had closed behind him. His hands hung straight down by his sides. He was looking at Seitzen. On his face was an expression of faint disgust.
Hiltsch said abruptly: "Wake up, Seitzen. I want to talk to you." He walked to the side of the bed and shook Seitzen's shoulder.
Seitzen awoke. He opened his eyes and looked vaguely round the room. Then he ran his tongue over his lips. After a moment he focused his gaze on the figure on Nielek. He frowned. Then he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands and slowly sat up in bed. He sat up, his hands clasped on the coverlet before him, looking first at Hiltsch and then at Nielek.
He said: "What the devil is all this about, Hiltsch? What has happened?" He yawned.
Hiltsch said: "Nothing of importance. Wipe the sleep out of your eyes and listen." His voice was hard.
Seitzen looked at him for a moment. Then:
"Well... I'm listening. What is this? And who is this?" He indicated Nielek.
Hiltsch said: "This is S.S. Group Leader Kurt Nielek. Together we constitute a Special Court Martial under the power conferred upon us by Herr Reichsfuehrer Himmler through Special Section Director Karl Hildebrand."
Seitzen said: "For God's sake...!"
"You are accused and found guilty of the crime of treachery against the Fuehrer and the Reich. You are found guilty of traitorous intent to the Party. You are found guilty of treachery to your comrades of the S.A. You are found guilty of treachery against the Special Section. Under power conferred upon me by Special Section Director Karl Hildebrand I sentence you to death."
Seitzen looked at Hiltsch with wide eyes. Hiltsch took out his cigarette case and selected a cigarette. Nielek put his hand inside the breast of his double-breasted jacket.
