Dennis Wheatley - The Rape Of Venice

Before settling down for the evening again in the Piazza San Marco there was one grimmer sight at which he paused to look. It was a little enclosed bridge-​almost the shape of an inverted V-​high up over the narrow canal between the Doge's Palace and the city prison. It had been named the Bridge of Sighs because so many men had passed over it never to return, for the prison, which was known as the 'Leads', had a reputation as sinister as that of the Bastille.

On his sixth morning in Venice, he took with him to the San Samuele steps his tray of scent samples as well as his paints and canvas, as he felt that, should events follow the same course as on the two preceding days, they would have established a pattern, and he might risk acting upon it. Since Malderini was involved in a conspiracy, it seemed certain that he must often go out by night as well as by day, so Roger had considered lying in wait for him after dark. But to attack him on the water would have necessitated difficult and dangerous negotiations to find a gondolier prepared to accept a heavy bribe to become an accessory to murder; while to attack him on land was to risk a hue and cry being raised with the almost inevitable result that the attacker would get lost in a maze of alleyways and find himself cornered in one of the cul-​de-​sacs in which Venice abounded. In consequence, Roger had decided that the deed must be done in Malderini's own palace and, as a first step, he had prepared a plan by which he hoped to get inside it.

Malderini left in his colourful gondola as usual soon after nine, then it returned and, an hour later, ferried the Princess and Pietro across the Grand Canal. Roger continued his painting for some twenty minutes, then he went to the little tavern in the Campo Morosini, where he had had two midday meals and left his artist's paraphernalia with the proprietor. From there he walked back to the Grand Canal, picked up a gondola near the Palazzo Cavalli, and had himself taken to the landing steps of the Palazzo Malderini.

He did not attempt to land but had his man keep the gondola close in to the steps so that he could do so at any moment. After a wait of nearly half an hour, all the church bells of Venice began to chime midday. They were still pealing when Roger saw the Princess coming down the San Samuele steps. Two minutes later her gondola had ferried her across. By that time Roger had stepped onto the landing place and, as Pietro handed her ashore, he salaamed, presented his tray of scents and cried, 'Gracious lady! Perfumes from the East! Very beautiful but price modest. Please to accept samples.'

To his dismay she gave him only a glance and walked on, while the skull faced Pietro turned to hustle him off the steps. He had meant to whisper a few sentences to her as she was examining his scents. In another moment she would be gone. It was now or never; so he had to take a chance and call aloud after her.

He had before used broken Italian. Now he used a different language for each short sentence French, Arabic, Italian again, then Persian and in the last he cried, 'I come from Bahna. I must talk with you.'

Her steps suddenly slowed. In the doorway she halted, turned and beckoned to him. With the eager smile of the trader who has intrigued a possible buyer, his white teeth flashing between his black beard and moustache, he ran up the steps and presented his tray, once more breaking into a multilingual patter.

After smelling the stoppers from a few of his little bottles, she said in Italian, 'Come with me upstairs.'

Ignoring Pietro's scowl, he followed her through a lofty -pillared hall and up a curved staircase guarded by a beautiful balustrade of wrought and gilded ironwork, to a room on the first floor with tall windows overlooking the Barnaba canal. It was evidently her boudoir and much of its furnishings were of Indian design. Pietro had followed them up, but with a quick word she dismissed him. He gave Roger a suspicious glance and went with obvious reluctance. As soon as the door had closed behind him, she turned to Roger and asked in Persian, in a whisper:

'Did I… did I hear you aright?'

He nodded, but put a finger to his lips, again broke into his mixed Italian Arabic sales talk, and offered her his tray.

She came close to him and made a pretence of examining the scents. Her long fingers were trembling so violently that she could hardly hold the little bottles as he handed them to her, and her great dark eyes stared into his with an expression that was half excitement, half terror. After a minute he said in a low voice:

'Fear nothing. I come to help you. Go now and make sure that Pietro is not listening at the door.'

Controlling her agitation with an effort, she did as he had told her. Pietro was not there. Shutting the door again, she ran back to him and cried, 'What is the meaning of this? Who are you?'

He smiled. 'My disguise must be good, since you fail to recognise me at close quarters. But you will remember your visit to Lady St. Ermins's house down in Surrey, when you were in England; and the Englishman who fought a duel with your husband.'

She gave a little gasp. 'Yes, yes. I know you now. I felt sure I had seen those blue eyes and long eyelashes of yours somewhere before. It is not true, then, that you come from Banna?'

'I do,' he assured her. 'I arrived in Venice a week ago. But there is one question I must ask you without delay. The night before my duel with Malderini, we met at the bottom of the staircase. You said that he was the most evil of men and asked me to kill him. Do you still desire his death?'

Her hand jerked up to her mouth to suppress a cry, and she threw a terrified look over her shoulder. Then, in a fierce whisper, she replied, 'Yes; yes; yes!'

'Then I will rid you of him,' Roger said firmly. 'But I shall need your help.'

'I… I…' she faltered, 'I will give it you if… if I am able. But he has the mastery of my mind. He can turn my will to water. When we are with other people he imposes silence on me. There are often times when I do not know what I am doing. And… and he can read my thoughts. That is why I have never succeeded in running away from him.'

'He did not take you with him to India. Surely you could have found an opportunity to do so during all those months he was away?'

She shook her head, 'No. Before he left, he hypnotised me into following a set routine. I never left the house. Pietro remained here as watch-​dog. Even if I had made a supreme effort and broken the spell, Pietro would have prevented my escape. Now that I am allowed out again for a morning's walk he accompanies me everywhere. It has always been so. I am never permitted to be alone, even for five minutes, with anyone who might help me.'

'You imply that you could make a supreme effort. If I am to free you, this is the time to do so. You must arrange some means by which I can get into the house at night. Or come downstairs and let me in yourself. Does he still sleep with you?'

'Ner… ner… no.' Again she jerked up her hand, but this time to smother a hysterical laugh. 'No; my marriage is a mockery. He married me to get possession of my fortune, and because he knew that he could make a good medium out of me. He came to India when I was a child and got my poor father into his toils. I was very young. Too young to be a wife, but he made me his slave. Then he brought me to Europe. It was only later I realised…'

She broke off, suddenly shaken by a fit of sobs. Then, dashing the tears from her eyes, she began to babble semi-​hysterically about her life with Malderini. Roger was shocked and amazed, but her voice had risen to so high a pitch that he feared someone would hear her and come running to see what was the matter. Grasping her by the arms, he gave her a quick shake and said:

'Quiet! For God's sake lower your voice or someone will think I am maltreating you. What you say is terrible; but it all fits in with what I heard in Bahna.'