Dennis Wheatley - Unholy Crusade

No message from Chela awaited him at the desk, but there were two letters sent round from the Del Paseo.

One was from his Aunt Flora. It was to thank him for his Christmas present to her, although in somewhat austere terms. Having been busy with preparations for his trip to Mexico, he had jibbed at racking his brains for a present that would please her so had sent her a cheque for fifty pounds.

In her letter she remarked that, while money was always acceptable, the greatest pleasure lay in receiving a gift in the selection of which the giver had expended thought. She added that the size of the sum gave her reason to fear that Adam's good fortune had led to his becoming reckless about money. This she

urged him to guard against seriously, as she found it hard to believe that anyone could continue to live as he was doing simply by writing novels. She had, therefore, spent only five pounds on some new linen and had put the remainder aside against a day when he might need it. There followed news about a few of her neighbours and a report that a Jewish gentleman from the Midlands said to have big interests in television was negotiating to lease the Castle.

Aunt Flora's letter carried Adam back to a different world a sane and real world inbred in his very being; so that for a moment it seemed that all that had befallen him in Mexico his affaire with the lovely but strange and unpredictable Chela and his terrible experience at San Luis Caliente could not really have taken place. Yet the slight pain that he still felt in his bruised rib was ample evidence that they had been no dream.

On opening the second letter he found to his consternation that it was from Jeremy Hunterscombe, giving particulars of the meeting of the Anglo Mexican Society that evening. Adam had entirely forgotten about it, and it was already four o'clock. With a groan, he forwent a belated lie down and set about composing his speech.

He had been working on it for about half an hour when the telephone rang. As he picked up the receiver, his heart gave a violent lurch. It was Chela calling him.

`So you're back,' she said. `Ramon told me that you had gone off on a tour, and when I called up this morning I was told that you had not yet returned. I've been trying to get hold of you for the past three days. Come round here for drinks this evening, then we'll go out to dinner.'

Her opening to renew their affaire warmed him, but strengthened his resolution to play hard to get; so, tempted as he was to start saying endearing things to her, he steeled himself to reply in a rather off hand manner, `I'd love to, but I can't. I have to give a talk to the Anglo Mexican Society this evening.'

`Oh!' She hesitated. `But that will be over by about half past ten. You could take me out afterwards.'

`No,' he said firmly. `That's not on, either. Jerry Hunterscombe is running this show and he is expecting me to dine with him afterwards,' which was the truth.

`Oh, damn Jeremy!' she exclaimed angrily. `Tell him you can't. Put him off.'

Her eagerness to see him further strengthened Adam's feeling that he was taking a sound line, so he replied, `Sorry; I wouldn't like to do that but…' He had been going to suggest their making

date for the next day, but got no further because she had hung p on him.

Afterwards he wondered whether he had gone too far, and ad half a mind to ring her back. But he resisted the impulse and, turned to writing his speech; although, with visions of Chela now occupying the greater part of his mind, he found it extraordinarily hard to concentrate on it.

At half past seven he went over to the hall in which the Society eld its meetings. In a private room Jeremy and other members of the committee fortified him with drinks, then escorted him downstairs. As usual, on such occasions, he felt rather nervous; but the audience was large and gave him an encouraging reception. Hunterscombe introduced him in a brief, flattering and well thought out speech. Then Adam said his piece. As had always proved the case with him, `everything was all right on the night', and when he ended he received enthusiastic applause. There was then a half hour of questions, a sequel to which he rather looked forward, as it often gave him a lead to air is views on a variety of subjects. Then followed a vote of thanks and a few words with friendly people in the audience, after which Hunterscombe carried him off in a car.

They dined at a small restaurant which had a French cuisine and a French chef to see to it that the dishes were truly a la francaise, so the food was excellent. Halfway through the meal, Hunterscombe said

`You were telling me that you've been on a trip. During it did you think any more about the subject we talked of when we lunched together? You know, old boy. I mean the off the record stuff:

Adam nodded. `Yes, I did. And I have no doubt now that you were right. There is plenty of trouble brewing. The Indians really are still primitives, and in some places the priests are playing on their superstitions to encourage them to revolt.' `Can you give me any particulars?'

Before going to the meeting Adam had carefully considered how such he should say if Hunterscombe raised the subject again; and

had decided to say very little because the Wing Commander suspected Chela. So the less he was told about what was going on the better, just in case some item of information enabled him to infirm his suspicions definitely.

`No,' Adam lied glibly. `But I can tell you one thing. You were wrong in believing that the Enriquezes are involved. Bernadino and his capitalists friends have no tie up with the Church, and they are all against anything which might upset the status quo. I

learned that from Ramon, and I'm certain he wasn't fooling me.' The Wing Commander brushed up his fair moustache. `But how about Chela?'

`Oh, Chela!' Adam shrugged. `I haven't seen her since I last saw you. Undoubtedly she is an idealist and Alberuque's pet, or he hers. But that doesn't add up to much, now we know that she is not acting as liaison between the Monsignor and her father.'

`Could be you're right, chum,' Hunterscombe admitted. `If she is a dead end, there is no point in wasting further time on her.'

Adam felt that he had handled the situation as well as possible, but he was not fully convinced that the Wing Commander believed him. There was a quality about him that was difficult to assess. On the face of it, he was almost a Wodehouse character and Adam would not have been at all surprised to be addressed by him as `old egg' or `old bean', or to hear him speak of `cads' and 'rotters'. But there seemed to be an underlying shrewdness about him, and Adam had heard it said more than once that apparently 'silly idiot' British agents were the cleverest in the world.

To his relief Hunterscombe made no further reference to the subject during the latter part of their pleasant dinner, nor while taking him back to his hotel.

Next morning he rang up Chela, with the intention of putting matters right with her, but she had already gone out and it was not known when she would be back. He then asked for Ramon and, when he came on the line, asked him to lunch. Ramon would not hear of it. In Mexico the term `visitor' is synonymous with `guest'. He had an engagement but that could be put off. He was anxious to see Adam and would expect him at two o'clock at the Bankers' Club.

Adam again made his way downtown, but this time not too early for his appointment. Ramon received him cordially and at once asked how he had enjoyed his trip.

`I had a most interesting time,' Adam grinned `and damn' nearly got my throat cut.'

Ramon raised his dark eyebrows. `The devil you did! I can't wait to hear about it.'

Over lunch Adam gave a full account of his week's tour, ending up with a graphic description of his shattering experience at San Luis Caliente.