Codeword Golden Fleece by Dennis Wheatley

was now agitating everybody’s mind he had soon tumbled to what the Duke meant by ‘Uncle not being expected to last over the weekend’, and in any case such a summons from his old friend could not be ignored, so he replied at once:
    ‘Right oh! We’ll make the night train for Warsaw somehow.’
    ‘Good!’ said the Duke. ‘If there is any hitch over the car, hire one yourself and get out here as soon as you can. The place is spelt L-U-B-I-E-S-Z-O-W, and it is in the province of Polesie. See you tomorrow. Bless you both.’ Then, with a sigh of relief, he hung up the receiver.
    The following day passed without episode. It was again a pleasant, sunny morning, and about half past ten the Lubieszow family and the Duke saw Lucretia and Jan off in his aeroplane, which, having circled twice, headed south for Cracow, where they planned to arrive in good time for lunch. General Mack’s people and the Germans were already in conference, and with a short break for lunch they kept at it until half past five.
    De Richleau did a round of the stables with his host and spent the best part of the rest of the day listening to a variety of stations on the radio. He was by no means a wireless fan, since he maintained that casual listening, far from stimulating thought, dulled it, and he was mildly contemptuous of people who allowed themselves to become enslaved by its facile entertainment, instead of employing it deliberately on occasions when special concerts or items of real interest were being broadcast. But today he wanted to know how people all over Europe were reacting to the crisis, and to learn any hard news that was available.
    As he spoke several languages with great fluency and could converse quite well in a number of others, he was able to switch from station to station as each news bulletin came on, and there was very little in them that he did not catch.
    All that he heard confirmed his worst forebodings. The German propagandists had wrought themselves up to a fever pitch over Danzig. The Poles were hardly less belligerent in their determination not to give way. Italy was advocating Germany’s right to the Free City. The Czech and Austrian stations were muzzled, already harnessed by Dr. Goebbels’ propaganda machine. The rest were endeavouring to report the facts objectively, pleading for calmness, time, further arbitration; none of them openly daring to defy Hitler and use the only weapon they had—united opposition—which might have given him reason to pause.
    The Duke remembered so well the 1914 crisis. If only Britain had told the Kaiser then that she meant to fight, should he invade France, instead of waiting until the German armies were already shooting and burning their way across Belgian soil, war would have been averted. But Britain made clear the positionshe intended to take up—too late. It would be the same this time. If only the League States had had the courage to stand up to Hitler and tell him plainly: ‘If you attack Poland you must fight us all,’ unprepared as they were individually, he would not have dared to take on so many nations controlling among them the potential resources of half the world. But each was hoping to escape the
débâcle
, and de Richleau felt instinctively that humanity would do nothing to save itself. Only the purge of war could bring true vision and courageous statesmanship back to the pampered, effete democracies—and the sands of Time were fast running out.
    About six o’clock he was listening with cynical despair to Radio Paris when he caught the sound of a motor horn. Switching off the wireless, he hurried outside and found, as he had hoped, that the car he had ordered in Warsaw early that morning to meet Richard and Marie Lou had just drawn up.
    With a tired smile Richard climbed out. He was unshaven and a little bleary-eyed, but Marie Lou appeared to have survived the eighteen-hour journey somewhat better. Her small, beautifully proportioned figure was as neat as