Dennis Wheatley - The wanton princess

It was de la Touche who clinched the matter by exclaim­ing, 'De Ncuville is right! On Friday evening I thought I knew his face. Now I recall where I saw him. It was last September. He was sitting at a table drinking with General Bessieres outside a cafe in the Palais Royal gardens. I was at the next table trying to catch what I could of their conversa­tion.'

"Mort Dieu!’ de Roll muttered. 'And he knows our plan. If he gets back to France our friends there will be ruined.'

'Not necessarily,' put in the Chevalier de Brie. 'He got from us only general particulars and a few names, but no details or addresses.'

'He knows too much,' said de Neuville grimly. 'We must see to it that he does not return, or pass on what he has learned to some traitor here'

'That is easier said than done,' remarked Pichegru with a frown.

'Then you have become squeamish for a soldier. General,' de la Touche declared. 'There is but one penalty for a spy who is caught, and he has earned it.'

During these swift exchanges Roger's mind had been working furiously, and he had no illusions about the imminent peril in which he stood. He did not think '.hey would dare murder him in the club, but the six of them could overpower him and force brandy down his throat until he was dead drunk. Drunkenness was so common that the other members of the club and the servants would think nothing of seeing a man who had passed out being carried downstairs by a party of apparently half-drunk friends and being driven off with them in a coach. They could then finish him off with a knock on the head and leave his body in some back alley where, when it was found in the morning, it would be assumed that he had been attacked and killed by a footpad.

The six of them were standing on the far side of the table with the door behind them, so he stood no possible chance of getting past them to it. Had he had a sword he could have held them off long enough for his shouts for help to bring other people to his assistance; but he was unarmed. And if he did shout, that would drive them into rushing him and knocking him out at once, then telling whoever arrived on the scene that he nad gone down in a fight following a quarrel over cards. His only asset lay in his extreme fitness and agility; but he rated his chances of getting away as elender.

Nonetheless he had made up his mind what to do when the attack came, and the moment de Neuville opened his mouth to cry 'Come; get him!' he acted.

Springing forward, he grasped the edge of the heavy table with both hands, gave a violent heave and overturned it. To his right, only two paces away, lay the fireplace. Even before the glasses and decanter had crashed on the floor, by a sideways dive he had grabbed the poker. The far edge of the table struck Pichegru and the Baron dc Roll hard above the knees, knocked them both backwards and temporarily pinned them beneath it. Assuming that Roger meant to make a rush for the door, de Neuville jumped back and planted himself firmly in front of it. De Brie, who had been beside him, leapt round that end of the overturned table towards Roger, while Lafont, followed by dc la Touche, ran at him round the other.

Lafont was a pace ahead of the others, so Roger turned to face him, swung the poker high and aimed a blow at his head. Just in time he jerked his head aside; but the poker slashed down across his car, tearing it half off. Clapping his hand to it, the Colonel gave a screech of pain, reeled back­wards, tripped on the edge of the hearth and fell backward upon it.

Before Roger had time to recover from the stroke, de Brie was upon him and had grabbed him by the back of his coat collar. As he twisted round they were at too close quarters for Roger to strike at his assailant's head. Instead he drew the poker back and drove its point hard into the plump Chevalier's stomach. De Brie gave a gasp and his eyes popped from their sockets. Letting go Roger's collar he, too, staggered back then doubled up in agony.

Knowing that de la Touche must now be immediately behind him, Roger swivelled on his heel. As he turned his head he thought that he was finished. De la Touche had drawn a poniard from beneath his coat and had it raised high to plunge into him. It was too late for him to spring away or bring up the poker to guard against the blow. But he was saved from it most unexpectedly. Still standing in the doorway dc Neuville gave a sudden shout.

'Stop, you imbecile! No bloodshed! No bloodshed here or we'll hang for it.'

With an effort de la Touche checked the stab in mid-air. Glowering with hatred he stepped back. Now facing him, Roger brought up his right foot and kicked him hard on the shin. He gave a grunt, swore foully and, as Roger swung at him with the poker, swiftly retreated.

Panting from his exertions but still unharmed, Roger was now free from attack; but he knew that he would remain so only for a matter of moments. Pichegru and dc Roll had come out from beneath the table, de la Touche had received only a minor injury, de Brie was getting back his wind and dc Neuville might, at any moment, decide to enter the fray. To fight his way through them to the door was still out of the question. Grimly he realized that there was only one way in which he might perhaps save himself. Turning his back on them, he brought the poker with all his force against the lower half of the tall window.

It shattered, but great jagged pieces of the glass still adhered to the sides and bottom of the frame. Three more swift blows sent the largest of them crashing into the street below. Pounding feet on the floor behind him told him that he would never get through the window before his enemies had seized and overcome him.

Turning, he faced them once more. Clenching his teeth he slashed at them right, left and centre. His first blow caught Pichegru on his outstretched arm: his second felled the Baron with a cracked skull; his third missed the Chevalier but, throwing Roger off balance, saved him from a brandy bottle that dc la Touche had picked up from the floor and hurled at his head. Recovering from his lurch he lunged with the poker at de Brie's face, smashing in his front teeth. Pichegru, in spite of his disabled arm, came at him again but got a jab from the poker right over his heart that rendered him tempor­arily hors de combat.

Colonel Lafont still sat moaning on the hearth with his hand over his torn ear. De Neuville had not entered the fray but remained guarding the door. Dc la Touche now hung back, evidently unwilling to risk serious injury. It was Roger's chance and he took it.

The bottom of the tall window was only a foot from the floor. Thrusting one leg over he dropped the poker, grasped the sill with both hands and swung himself out. Giving a swift glance down he was appalled. To the pavement below was a drop of fifteen feet. If he let go it seemed certain that he would either break his neck or a leg.

Then he saw that only a yard to the right of the window and a few feet below it there projected from the wall an iron bracket holding a lantern that lit the entrance to the club. For a second he wondered whether it would bear his weight, then decided that he must chance that. Shifting his grip on the sill, he swung himself sideways, grasped the bracket and lowered himself to it. But he was still twelve feet above the street level. Yet worse—another quick look downward showed him that he was now hanging immediately over a row of spiked railings on one side of the steps that led up to the door of the club. If he let go his hold he would be impaled upon them.

His breath coming in gasps he hung there, his mind fraught with terrible indecision. He could still climb back and sur­render to his enemies. He had no doubt they meant to kill him, but to let himself drop might also mean death; or, at least, terrible injuries.