Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

They drank it with enthusiasm. A little later Marie Lou turned to Richard. “Would you mind very much if I went to bed?”

“But it’s early,” he protested.

“I’m tired,” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, just as you like.”

She rose from the table and he followed her out into the hall. “I’ve hardly seen you alone all day,” he said reproachfully, as she was about to enter the lift.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled sweetly at him, “but I’m tired; I want to go to bed.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asked. “I thought we might get a car and go for a drive. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She shook her head. “No, tomorrow I mean to have a long morning in bed.”

“Right-o, if that’s how you feel,” he said, a little sulkily. “What about lunch?”

“I will lunch in my room, I think.”

“Dear me,” he raised his eyebrows; “well, if you change your mind, let me know. Good night,” he turned away abruptly.

The Duke and Rex were with the manager. They had tied up the jewels in a napkin, and were now transferring them into three stout envelopes, to be sealed with wax before being deposited in the hotel safe.

Gerry Bruce bade them good night and left. The four friends remained standing in the hall. Simon limped to the hall porter’s desk and asked for his key; the man gave it to him, and with it a letter.

“Hullo,” he said, “wonder who this is from — no one but my office knows where I am.”

There was a second envelope inside the first. “Letter addressed to Miriam’s house,” he remarked to Richard. “Can’t think who can have written to me there; she sent it on to the office.”

“It’s got a Russian stamp,” said the Duke with interest.

“Valeria Petrovna!” exclaimed Simon, looking at the large sheets covered with a round, childish hand. “This is awkward; she warns us that Leshkin is applying for extradition papers.”

“I have reason to know that they will not be executed,” remarked De Richleau, with a little smile.

“Say, are you sure of that?” asked Rex.

“Quite certain,” the Duke answered firmly. “I am taking steps to ensure that we shall not be troubled with any unpleasantness of that kind.”

“Great business,” grinned Rex. “Well, I’m for hitting the hay; I’ve had quite enough hectic business to last me for some little time.” He yawned loudly as he turned towards the lift.

“I will go with you,” said the Duke.

“Hope the thought of those pretty toys of Marie Lou’s don’t keep you from your sleep,” said Rex.

De Richleau had just exchanged a few words in a low tone with the hall porter. He smiled. “I think I shall read for a while; I have found a most interesting book on the subject of murder, the theory of the game as opposed to the practice causes me considerable amusement.”

Simon had just finished reading his letter. He held it in one hand, stooping a little as he smiled at Richard, who was getting into his coat preparatory to leaving the hotel.

“She wants me to meet her in Berlin next month — that is, if we don’t get extradited!” He laughed his jerky little laugh into the palm of his hand.

“Shall you go?” asked Richard, curiously.

Simon nodded his clever, narrow head up and down. “Got to — Valeria’s in a muddle with her contracts — have to see what I can do.”

IV

Richard was disturbed and unhappy as he made his way slowly to his hotel. Could Marie Lou be getting spoilt, he wondered. Why must she go rushing off to bed like that, having danced half the evening with Rex — he had hardly had a word with her all day. And then this absurd business of stopping in bed all the next morning; there were so many things in Vienna he wanted to show her. Lunching in bed, too! It really was the limit.... Could it be the jewels that had made the difference?... She was independent of him now. Tomorrow he supposed she would be asking him to see about the annulment of their marriage — of course he’d have to set her free — he couldn’t hold her to it. But how he wished that he could.

When he got to his hotel he went up in the lift and down the corridor to his room. It was innocent of all signs of occupation. “Hullo — wrong room,” he muttered, switching off the light again; “I must be on the next floor.” He looked at the number on the door: “218”. Surely that was right? What an extraordinary thing; perhaps they had shifted him because of the central heating. Still, they ought to have let him know.

He went down to the bureau in the hall. “What have you done with my things?” he said.

The night clerk looked surprised. “We sent them over on your instructions, sir.”

“My instructions? What do you mean?”

“The American gentleman, Mr. Van Ryn, who took the room for you, came here just before eight o’clock. He said you wished to transfer to the Regina, where your friends were staying. We were to pack for you and send over your things at once. He paid your bill. I hope we have done right, sir?”

Richard frowned. What in the world had bitten Rex? Still, there it was — he’d better go and find out. Absently he walked out into the street again.

At the Regina he was told that Mr. Van Ryn had booked a room for him, No. 447 — the night porter gave him the key.

What the devil had Rex been up to? thought Richard, as he walked over to the lift. If this was supposed to be a joke, it was in damned bad taste — 447 was next to Marie Lou. Richard walked angrily down the corridor. He supposed he’d better have his things moved again to another room.

He opened the door — yes, there were all his belongings, unpacked, too — what a fool Rex was. This sort of thing wasn’t like him, either.

The communicating-door to No. 448 stood a little open. Richard was tempted; here was an opportunity for a word with Marie Lou — he could explain that he was moving.

He looked into the bedroom. There she was, the darling, lying in bed. She made no movement; perhaps she was asleep? Only the light by the bed was still on. The orchids that he had given her that evening stood near it in a glass.

He tiptoed over to the side of the bed. Yes, she was asleep — how divinely pretty she looked with her long dark lashes lying on her cheeks. One lovely arm thrown back over her curly head; she lay quite still, breathing gently.

His heart began to thump as he looked at her — he simply must steal just one kiss — he bent over and very gently touched her forehead with his lips.

He turned reluctantly and began to tiptoe back to the other room.

“Richard,” said a soft voice from the bed.

He swung round, the picture of guilt. “Hullo,” he said, in a voice that he tried to make as casual as possible, “I thought you were asleep.”

She shook her head. “Do you like your new room?” she asked slyly.

“So you knew about that, eh?” He was quite at his ease and smiling at her now.

“Of course; I asked Rex to manage it — it is a wife’s duty to look after her husband,” she added, virtuously. “I couldn’t have you sleeping in that cold hotel.”

He sat down on the side of the bed. “Look here,” he said, with an effort, “if we do this sort of thing we shan’t be able to get the annulment, you know.”

She sat up quickly, clasping her hands round her knees, a tiny perfect figure, Dresden china flushed with rosy life.

“Richard,” she said gravely, “do you want that annulment very, very badly?”

He drew a sharp breath. “There’s nothing in the world I want less!”

She laughed. “And you won’t be sulky if we don’t go out tomorrow morning — or if we lunch in bed?”

“Marie Lou! you angel!” He leant over her. Her soft arms were round his neck; she whispered in his ear: “Richard, my darling, this is the perfect ending to the Fairy Story of the Princess Marie Lou.”