Dennis Wheatley - The Rape Of Venice

As Roger rode on alone he suddenly felt hungry, so he took from his pocket the flat packet that the Begum had given him. To his delight he found it to be a slab of nougat, for few things could have been better suited to sustain him that the rich mixture of honey and almonds. By the time he had disposed of a dozen mouthfuls he was half-​way down the winding track and, at intervals, could now see plainly both the town and camp. Another half-​hour and, with his mount in a lather from having cantered the last mile, he reached the entrance to the lines.

He had made the arduous journey in about five hours, so it was not yet seven o'clock; but the camp was already stirring. The sepoys were milking their goats and lighting fires to cook their chupatties; havildars were shouting orders at fatigue squads and orderlies taking officers' chargers down to water at a stream that flowed through the camp.

A guard was being relieved at the roadside as he passed, but as he was a European no attempt was made to stop him. On slightly higher ground, a quarter of a mile away, stood a row of larger tents and two big marquees, which were obviously the officers' quarters. Riding straight up to them, he threw himself off his horse. For the first time he was conscious of a terrible fatigue and stiffness of his limbs, but the knowledge that he was now certain of securing help to rescue Clarissa kept his mind buoyant.

In front of one of the tents, a young officer, in his shirtsleeves, was just about to wash in a canvas bucket, and Roger called to him urgently:

'Colonel Gunston! Where is he? I must see him at once.'

Pointing to one of the marquees, the young man called back. 'He is in there. But he'll still be asleep, and he is apt to resent being woken early.'

'I can't help that,' Roger croaked, his voice gone suddenly hoarse. 'Anyway, he'll not resent it on this occasion. I come on a matter of life or death.'

The young man promptly put down the bowl he was holding, ordered his servant to take Roger's mount and hurried with him over to the marquee. The sentry in front of it came to attention and stood rigid as they passed through the flap. Inside it was divided into two sections, the larger comfortably furnished as a reception room, and behind it a curtained-​off sleeping-​quarter. In the first a native servant was seated cross-​legged on the floor pipe-​claying his master's equipment. With a look of surprised apprehension he quickly came to his feet and put a finger to his lips; but the officer told him sharply to wake the Colonel Sahib.

With evident reluctance the man went over to the curtain and called several times, softly, through it. After a moment there came the sound of hearty cursing, then low muttering and a pause.

Roger could hardly contain his impatience. He knew that by this time his escape must have been discovered. When it became evident that he had got clean away Malderini would expect him to return with troops. That meant that the Venetian would expedite his plan for using Clarissa in some horrible occult ceremony; or he might disappear from Bahna with her. But he could not know that Roger had been aided in his escape and supplied with a horse and guide; so he would probably count himself safe for several days at least. There was, therefore, still a good chance to take him by surprise before he could harm Clarissa. But only if Gunston broke camp at once, for it would take two days to march the troops through the hills; so every moment counted.

Suddenly the curtain was wrenched aside, and Gunston appeared, wrapped in a chamber-​robe, his red hair tousled and his beefy face flushed with anger. Beyond him Roger caught a glimpse of a wide-​eyed young native girl with small firm breasts sitting up among the rumpled coverings of a divan.

'What the hell's the meaning of this?' Gunston shouted. Then, recognising his visitor, he exclaimed, "Why, damn'e if it isn't Roger Brook! And what a state you're in, man! You look as if you'd been beset by robbers and barely got away. But what the devil brings you here?'

'I come from Banna,' Roger cried. 'You were there recently. You met a Venetian, a man named Malderini, and told him that Clarissa and I were in Calcutta.'

'Did I! Why, yes; perhaps I made mention of you to him. But what of it?'

'He bears me a deadly grudge. He came down to Calcutta, and while I was up at Chinsurah kidnapped Clarissa.'.

Gunston's sandy eyebrows shot up. 'Good God! The swine! D'you mean he's holding her prisoner in Bahna?'

'Yes. I followed; but he guessed I would and laid an ambush for me. He meant to kill me by slow torture; but by the grace of God I escaped, and have been riding hell for leather through the hills all night.'

'Well done! I will say you never lacked for guts, Brook. But what of Clarissa?'

'To arrange her escape was impossible. That fiend has her prisoner still, and threatens all sorts of abominations for her.'

'Poor girl! What a hellish business! I don't wonder at the state you're in. But what's to be done?'

'Done!' cried Roger. 'Why, sound the alarm! Parade your troops! Break camp!'

'What's this you say?'

'Give orders for an immediate march. Every moment is precious. We can start in an hour. We'll be through the mountains in two days. Two nights hence we'll take the city by surprise, and have her out of his clutches.'

Gunston's full mouth fell open; then he shook his head. 'I'm sorry for you, Brook. Indeed I am. And I've never concealed from you that I've a soft spot for Clarissa. But this trouble must have driven you out of your mind. What you suggest is impossible.'

'Impossible!' Roger gasped. 'You cannot mean…'

'I mean that, were you my dearest friend, or Clarissa my own wife, I could not use the Company's troops in a private quarrel. And I have my orders. They are in no circumstances to start a war with the Rajah of Bahna.'

Chapter 18

A Tough Nut to Crack

Roger swore, argued, cursed, reasoned and pleaded; but all in vain. He explained that the Wazier intended to bring the Rajah's army over to them; so there would be no fighting. Gunston replied that he would not trust the word of any native, let alone a cross-​eyed one. Roger implored him to at least make a demonstration in force. Gunston countered that it would need only one fool on either side to let off a musket for the demonstration to become a bloody battle. Roger begged for one company of infantry with which to make the attempt himself. Gunston refused on the grounds that they were his troops, his orders were positive and, if even a score of them were used in an act of war, he would be held responsible. Roger called him a coward. Gunston, with commendable restraint, declared that he would not accept a challenge from a man who was out of his mind. Finally, driven to a frenzy by the thought of Clarissa, and that Gunston had the means to save her but would not use them, Roger rushed upon him and attempted to strike him in the face.

Thoroughly worn out, as Roger was, his assault failed dismally. Gunston was fresh from a night's sleep and, in any case, the stronger physically. He seized Roger's wrists and held him off; then bellowed an order that he should be put in irons and taken to a tent. Five minutes later Roger was dragged away, manacled and pushed into a tent, the flap of which was laced up and a guard put on duty outside it.

The tent was a spare officer's quarter what a mat on the floor and a low divan. Choking with rage at having been put in irons, racked with anguish by fears for Clarissa, and utterly-​distraught at the thought that there was now no hope of rescuing her, he flung himself down. Nature, too, had chosen this moment to exact from him the price of his exertions and ordeals. He ached in every limb, he could hardly see out of his eyes, his head seemed on fire and his brain was bemused.