Dennis Wheatley - The Rape Of Venice

After a hesitant beginning she told her story clearly. Believing Roger to be an Arab perfume-​seller she had taken him up to her boudoir. He had then disclosed his true identity and she recognised him as an Englishman whom she had met in England when there with her husband, the previous summer. He had told her that he had been sent from England by Mr. Pitt to stir up trouble in Venice for the French, but had been robbed of his funds so wanted her to help him with money. She knew her husband to be a loyal supporter of the new Government so naturally she had refused. Thereupon Roger had snatched a valuable ring from her finger; but before he could get away, her husband and the servants had arrived on the scene.

The diabolical cunning with which Malderini had elaborated the original charge filled Roger with considerable alarm.

In an attempt to spike his guns once and for all, he cried loudly to the Princess:

'Tell the truth, Madame! In God's name make an effort, Tell the court the truth about your husband. Show him up for what he is. Free yourself from this evil…'

He got no further. The President hammered furiously on his desk with his gavel, the Colonel, the other magistrate and two ushers all shouted at him to be silent, drowning his words. Meanwhile, the Princess had given him one terrified look, then half collapsed against Malderini who had come swiftly up behind her.

Pietro was the next witness called. He substantiated his mistress's story, then described the week-​end party at Stillwater where he had first seen Roger in his true colours as an English aristocrat.

Malderini followed. He was wearing a dark shade over his eyes, so evidently the pepper had inflamed them seriously; but that was little consolation to Roger at the moment with all this sworn testimony piling up against him. His enemy skilfully embroidered the statements of the other two, then produced a trump card in support of his verbal assertions. It was a printed paper which, he asserted, must have fallen from one of Roger's pockets during his struggle to escape, as, he said, it had been found on the floor of the Princess's room immediately afterwards.

After the Provost-​Marshal had examined it and it had been explained to him, it was handed to Roger. On the one side of the paper was a printed plan of Vauxhall Gardens; on the other a programme of music and price list of wines. There were also two addresses scribbled on it in different shades of ink. One, in an educated hand, read Lucy Cresswell, at Mrs Goosens three doors from the Cock Tavern. Drury Lane the other, in printed letters, was that of the British Consul in Venice.

The writing of the first was vaguely familiar to Roger and, after a moment, he recognised it as that of Richard Sheridan; then he guessed at once how the programme had come into Malderini's possession. Evidently the playwright had taken, him to Vauxhall one evening and scribbled on it the address of some lady of the town that he had picked up there; then later, by which time Sheridan had probably become fairly drunk, Malderini had pocketed the programme as a souvenir. The Consul's address he would have added that morning

But to the court, the implication was clear. Roger had kept the paper for the young woman's address, and jotted down that of the Consul's upon it. As the latter was in capitals, he could not prove that he had not written it, and his having had it on him was the strongest possible support for the contention that he was a British spy.

The case against him was now extremely black, but he knew that any sign of weakness would be fatal; so he launched a violent attack on his enemy. With some skill he argued that the three last witnesses must all be taken as one, and that one was inspired by jealous hatred. The servant, Pietro, naturally said what his master told him to say; the unfortunate wife was completely under her husband's domination and had, no doubt, been persuaded to perjure herself from fear of him; while he had hatched this iniquitous plot in an attempt to revenge himself on a man he believed he had found on the point of seducing his wife.

In swift trenchant French, Roger went on to call the shades of Lafayette, Mirabeau and Danton to witness that he was no British spy, but Citizen Breuc, patriot of the Revolution. He had just got to the point of demanding to be sent before General Buonaparte, who would vouch for him, when there was a stir at the back of the court, and a youngish, thin faced man, with a very long sharp nose, thrust his way through the crowd.

Silencing Roger, the Colonel addressed the newcomer. 'Citizen Villetard, your arrival is most opportune. You can settle this question for us.'

Roger shot a swift glance at the thin-​faced man. Villetard was, he knew, the clever and indefatigable French Charge d'Affaires who had stirred up the Venice mob in May and engineered the downfall of the Serenissima.

With a bow to the magistrates, Villetard said, 'Citizens, I must apologise for being late, but the many preparations for today's festivities delayed me.'

The Provost-​Marshal returned his bow and said. 'Citizen Minister, am I right in believing that all agents sent from Paris on missions to Venice are under obligation to report to you on their arrival?'

Villetard nodded. 'Yes, that is so.'

'Very well then. The prisoner claims to be one Citizen Breuc, who has deserved well of the Republic, and asserts that he came here on such a mission. Is that the truth, or is ha lying?'

After one glance at Roger. Villetard replied promptly. 'He is lying. There was a Citizen Breuc who was at times employed by Citizen Carnot. and stood in high favour with Citizen. Barras; but I have heard nothing of him for a year at least. For him to have dropped out of things suggests that he is probably dead, and this man, having learnt that, has endeavoured to make use of his identity. He is unquestionably an impostor.'

The Provost-​Marshal bowed again. 'I thank you, Citizen Minister.' Then he signed to a Sergeant, pointed at Roger, and added, 'Take him down to the Arsenal and tell my deputy to deal with him.'

'I protest!' cried Roger. 'I demand to be sent before General Buonaparte!'

With a shrug and a twirl of his red moustache, the Colonel retorted roughly. The General-​in-​Chief is far too occupied with matters of importance to be troubled with English spies!"

The President rapped with his gavel, stood up and declared the sitting closed. The people began to crowd out of the court, Two French soldiers look Roger by the arms and with him between followed the Sergeant out into a long draughty corridor. Some way along it the Sergeant unlocked a door. Roger was thrust through it into a cell. As he turned, the Sergeant, a real grizzled old soldier with a walrus moustache, said:

You can cool yer 'eels 'ere for a bit while we 'ave our midday grub; then we'll take you fer a little walk dahn to the Arsenal.'

'Why am I being taken there?' Roger asked anxiously. 'Is part of it used as a military prison?'

The Sergeant gave a throaty chuckle. 'Not likely, chum, We're takin' you there ter be shot,"

Chapter 24

Half an Hour to Live

Roger had known the answer before he asked the question. For a few moments he had tried to persuade himself that he was being transferred to a different prison and had clutched, as at a straw, at the thought that, spies being a matter for the military, he was only being removed from the custody of the civil authorities. But convicted spies were shot. And he had been convicted. There were no convenient walls in the Doge's Palace, or the solid block of the Leads, against which a man might be shot out of sight of the public; whereas, in the many acres covered by the great Arsenal, there were plenty. Instinct had told him what to expect immediately the Provost-​Marshal had given the order for him to be taken there.