The Whip Hand

he must have made up his mind. Nothing would come from him. I might crack and name him, but he would do nothing first to save me. That I might name him he must already have accepted as a possibility. He would be concerned now with his own moves. I had no quarrel with that. He had a job to do – and I had been dismissed, told to keep out of the way, and I had broken the rules. I always broke them somewhere, and then paid. But this time I was setting up a record.

Alois and his group stood a few yards from me, and Alois, when I was bound, turned to the men and said in a calm flat voice—

“This man was discovered in the house. He has worked, or is still working, for the British Secret Service. On his own admission he has stated that there are two men amongst you who work for the same or comparable organizations of other governments. These men – unlike the rest of you – are here in bad faith, planning to destroy me and all I work for. I do not intend either of these men to leave here alive. This man is going to be whipped until he names them.” He smiled for a moment. “I don’t expect any chivalry, but since, in the end, he will speak, and no one leaves here until he does, it would save time and unpleasantness if the two men revealed themselves.” He paused, looking at them, and then when there was nothing but silence, he said, “No? Well, then we must do it the hard way.”

The whip in his hand, thong gathered neatly into the right palm against the butt, was held out towards Katerina.

“You. Give him the first dozen.”

I saw Katerina hesitate for the merest fraction of a second, so slight that it was like the flick of a swallow passing. Then she took the whip. Whatever she thought, she was still under trial with him. She knew it, too.

She came round behind me and I lost sight of her, but I heard her speak to one of the guards.

“Das Hemd!”

A hand went to the back of my neck and my shirt was ripped away from my back in two pieces. I was bitter and bloody-minded. If I ever walked out of this place, I told myself, and she was around, I’d get her. No matter how much I loved her, I would get her.... All I wanted for her was some great humiliation. I longed for it so much that I scarcely felt the bite of the first lash across my back.

But I felt the second and the third. I couldn’t stop my body jerking, and had to bite at my lower lip to keep back sound. She didn’t hurry, and, by God, she could handle a whip. Alois couldn’t fault her on that.

I yelled at the seventh stroke. There was now a sweaty haze across my eyes, through which I could see Manston watching me, monocle still in place, face untouched by any emotion. Beside him the man with the tin leg sat in a chair, his eyes on me.

After the eighth stroke, Alois said:

“Enough.” He came up to me, put out a hand and jerked my face up by the chin. “You wish to speak?”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Good. Speak.”

I said, “I thought you’d like to know, I shan’t need the aspirin. My headache has gone.”

He stepped back, ignored me, and nodded to Katerina. The lash bit into me. She was a strong girl. I didn’t yell. I twisted my head back as far as I could get it and she was just in my sights. I could see the flush on her face, the shine in her eyes, and the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed hard, and I shouted, “Go on, you beautiful blonde bastard! Go on – enjoy yourself!”

Her arm swung back and the lash caught me across the neck and the side of my face. She gave me the round dozen and the marrow had gone from my legs. I was slumped down the pillar, most of my weight on my wrists, and I could feel my head lolling like a puppet’s on half slack strings.

Katerina came round past me and handed the whip to Alois. He gave her a little pat on the arm. They were going to make a fine pair. Both of them would enjoy setting a match to the Munich powder keg. But I didn’t have much time to worry about them. My mind wasn’t functioning too smoothly from the remains of dope and this treatment, and I had difficulty in focusing. I could see old tin leg standing up now, supporting himself on his stick. In his free hand, he was holding his artificial leg which he must have unstrapped while the beating was going on. No one seemed to be taking any notice of him. I thought that damned odd, because his boot was still fixed to the end of the leg, and it looked so ludicrous that I wanted them all to see him. After all, if ever there was a moment for a good giggle it was now.

Alois came up alongside me, flicked the thong to loosen up his muscles, and then started to go by me to get into position for his first strike. Katerina’s efforts would seem like love caresses compared with his, and I knew that two or three smacks from him would have me talking.

Fortunately it never came to it. As he was level with me, a voice said, “I don’t think it will be necessary to torture this man any longer.”

It was tin leg. He had moved behind the group of men and was standing on the first step of the dais, leaning heavily on his stick, the length of an empty trouser leg swinging grotesquely against the glass case.

“Come down from there!”

It was Madame