V for Vengeance by Dennis Wheatley Page A

that a great portion of London now lay in ruins and the casualties inflicted were known to be immense.
    Both Madeleine and Stefan knew that it was dangerous to comment upon the news in public places, as great numbers of Gestapo men had been drafted to Paris, and there were, in addition, innumerable French pro-Nazis who to curry favour with the administration were reporting criticisms of the régime. Yet, as Madeleine thought of the thousands of innocent people who must have been burnt to death or crushed beneath falling walls in this holocaust she could not refrain from saying under her breath: ‘The swine! The filthy swine! If there were a God in Heaven He would strike that fiend Hitler dead!’
    Kuporovitch shrugged. ‘Perhaps He will in His own good time.’
    She clasped her hands until the knuckles showed white. ‘Oh, Stefan! Why can’t we do something? There are hundreds of us to every one of them. If we were only determined enough and didn’t mind risking our own lives, we could overwhelm these beasts in a single night. They’re not human. There’s nothing honourable about them, as there has been about soldiers in past wars. They’re soulless vermin who ought to be exterminated. If I had the chance I wouldn’t hesitate to kill…’
    She suddenly broke off in quick alarm. The little priest was standing just beside her. She had not seen him move, yet there he was and placing his small brown hands on the table, he bent down to say very quietly: ‘My child, I hope that youwill permit an old man to give you a word of warning. You might easily be arrested and thrown into a concentration camp if any ill-disposed person had overheard what you have just said.’
    As she had spoken hardly above a whisper she could not imagine how anyone at another table could possibly have caught her words, but he gave her a reassuring smile.
    â€˜It is true that I only understood you because I am a lip-reader; yet quite a number of people have mastered that art, particularly detectives, so in these days when you talk in whispers in any public place you should guard your tongue.’
    â€˜Thank you, Father,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful to you for your warning.’
    â€˜Not at all, not at all;’ he suddenly stretched out a hand and, grasping the back of a chair from a nearby table, went on: ‘Have I your permission to join you for a moment?’
    Taking their consent for granted, he sat down and continued: ‘No one is actually facing any of us now, so if we speak softly we shall run no undue risk. You have ample reason for hating our enemies so bitterly?’
    Madeleine swallowed hard, sipped her Kirsch and said: ‘My fiancé was murdered by these fiends before my eyes on the very first day of the Occupation.’
    There was a short pause, and she heard him murmur: ‘I know it, my child. Poor Georges!’
    His words electrified her, and she turned to stare at him in amazement, but it was Kuporovitch who spoke. He had been quick to realise that this might be a trap and their uninvited guest a police-spy; so his voice, though low, was pregnant with menace as he said:
    â€˜If you know of Mademoiselle’s tragedy, it is clear that you accosted us deliberately just now. Who are you?’
    â€˜There is no cause for alarm,’ replied the little priest swiftly. ‘If I had meant to denounce you as anti-Nazis I could have done so without coming to your table. Georges Mercier was a friend of mine and we worked together.’ He turned back to Madeleine. ‘I wonder if you are aware why the Nazis shot him?’
    â€˜It was because he was a member of the
Deuxième Bureau
,’ she whispered, ‘although I had no idea of that until he cameto me for help, a few hours before he was murdered.’
    He nodded. ‘Georges was one of the most discreet of all our agents, but since he told you of his real work just before he died