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

one of the most callous things that Roger had ever seen done; but he knew that his own prospects of survival lay in the Sergeant’s and Corporal’s willing acceptance of his orders, and that, had he even been the Angel Gabriel, he could not have prevented them from making certain that the brutal Kutzie endured a prolonged and horrible death. As it was, with happy laughter, they showed their delight in this method of paying off old scores, and were obviously prepared to accept Roger’s future orders without argument.
    Having disposed of the Baron and Kutzie, they again spent a few minutes listening tensely. On the opposite side of the courtyard from their barn, but somewhat nearer the castle, there stood a building in which they knew that the serfs had their quarters. From it there now came faintly the sounds of sad, but melodious singing.
    With a nod of satisfaction, Roger led the way to another barn, where he knew the horses to be stabled. In it there were seven animals. Selecting three, he had them given a good feed of oats then, with their muzzles bound to prevent them from neighing, he had them harnessed to a
troika
which had been dragged from a nearby coach house.
    He had no idea where the French army was but, taking the stars for a guide, he intended to head south-west, feeling confident that, if they could avoid running into enemy patrols, by moving in that direction they would, sooner or later, come upon their compatriots.
    Having wrenched off the bells that would have jingled from the inverted U-shaped arch over the neck of the central horse of the
troika
, they piled into the carriage. Roger took the reins and they set off.
    A three-quarter moon had come up and its light reflectedfrom the snow made the scene almost as bright as day. As the
troika
emerged at a fast trot from the trees surrounding the castle, in the far distance Roger saw a black patch moving rapidly across the white, frozen waste. Almost immediately he realised that it was a body of horsemen and they were coming towards him. With sudden consternation, it flashed upon him that they must be the Cossacks whom the Baron had feared might pay the castle a visit. At the same moment, Fournier cried:
    â€˜Them’s Cossacks! You can tell by their little horses.’
    Hauling hard on the near rein, Roger nearly turned the
troika
over, in his frantic haste to slew it round and make off in another direction before they came face to face with the Russians. He could only hope that, against the background of the dark trees, the
trioka
would not have been noticed. Urging his three horses into a gallop, he took a course parallel to the edge of the wood.
    For a few moments all seemed well. Then, just behind him, Vitu cried, ‘
Mort Dieu
! They’ve seen us. They’ve changed direction too.’
    Roger threw a quick glance over his shoulder. From a trot, the Cossacks had spurred their mounts into a canter. There were about twenty of them and a tall officer some ten paces in front of the others was calling on the
troika
to halt.
    For a moment Roger thought of pulling up and running off into the wood; but, lame as he and his companions were, they would be overtaken in no time—that is, if the Russians bothered to come after them. If they did not, without food or shelter and unable to walk either fast or for any great distance, the fugitives would freeze to death.
    Realising that there was no escape, Roger lay back on the reins and brought his team to a standstill. With fury in his heart he watched, as the Cossacks, crouching low over their little steeds and giving vent to wild cries of elation, came charging up to the
troika
. With superb horsemanship they brought their shaggy, steaming ponies to an instant halt.
    Leaning forward in his saddle, the officer asked Roger inRussian, ‘Who are you? Why did you attempt to avoid us? Where are you off to?’
    Roger’s Russian was good enough for him to reply. ‘To Vilna, may it