Dennis Wheatley - Contraband

Dennis Wheatley

Contraband

There was menace in the night sky over England: an international smuggling racket with far-reaching political implications.

Gregory Sallust knew nothing of this when, in the Casino at Deauville, he first saw the lovely Hungarian girl, Sabine Szenty. Nor did he know that, before the thing was finished, he, Gregory Sallust, to save Sabine from retribution she had surely earned, would once again become a 'Wanted' man…

1

Midnight at the Casino

When Gregory Sallust first saw the girl it was already nearly midnight on the last day of his holiday. He had made a leisurely tour of Normandy, stopping at some of the less pretentious inns where the cuisine was still unspoiled by the summer tourist traffic, and was ending up with three days of riotous living at Deauville.

It was a little early yet for that playground of the rich. Another ten days and la grande semaine would bring the wealthy and the fashionable, with their locust crowd of hangers-on, from every city in Europe; but the Casino was fairly full. English, French, and Americans jostled each other at the tables while here and there a less familiar type of face proclaimed a true Latin, Scandinavian, or Slav.

The women, for the most part, were middle-aged or elderly, except for a sprinkling of professional harpies. The majority of girls who filled the tennis courts, the bar du soleil, and the bathing beach by day would be dancing, Gregory knew, and it was fairly easy for a practised eye like his to sort the few, who stood by their mothers or were gambling at the 'low tables for a few francs, from their more adventurous sisters. The clothes of the latter, their jewels and general air of casual indifference to their surroundings, gave away no secrets; it was the way in which they watched the faces of their men rather than the piles of plaques, which represented so many thousand francs, that indicated to the shrewd observer where their real interests lay.

Gregory glanced again at the girl who had just come in then lowered his eyes to the man she was accompanying, a strange little figure, now seated at the table. He was not a dwarf yet he was curiously ill proportioned. His body was frail and childlike, but his head massive and powerful. From it a shock of silver hair swept back, giving him a benign and priest like appearance, but his rattrap mouth and curiously pale blue eyes belied any suggestion of mildness.

Catching sight of him had first drawn Gregory Sallust's attention to the girl, for Gregory knew him, which was not surprising since he knew most people of importance.

From his public school he had gone straight into the war but a nasty head wound had put an end to his trench service and he had been seconded to Intelligence. His superiors there thought him a cynical but brainy devil and came to value him as a reliable man who would stick at nothing to collect vital information. They had kept him on, specially employed in Paris after the armistice, during the whole period of the Peace Negotiations, and it was then that he had first come in contact with so many famous personalities.

At the time of the currency collapse in Central Europe he had left the Service to undertake certain confidential work for English banking interests in Vienna, and when that job had ended he had drifted into journalism in order to supplement his private income of a few hundreds a year.

That had led, a year or two later, to his being sent out to the Far East as war correspondent to one of the big London 'dailies'. On his return he had remained unemployed except for occasional literary work until an old friend of his had recommended him, as highly suitable to undertake a special investigation needing secrecy and brains, to a group of men who controlled one of Britain's greatest commercial corporations. Gregory had accepted the offer and as a preliminary had taken his fortnight's 'holiday' in Normandy. He was due back to make his first report the following day.

The girl remained standing behind her companion's chair, and Gregory watched her covertly. He was wondering if she was a poule de luxe or just some friend's girl in whom the old man was taking a fatherly interest; but Gregory knew that he was not the sort of old man to derive the least pleasure from the innocent conversation of respectable young women. He was almost a recluse, having cut himself off from all social life years before, and even when he travelled he rarely appeared in the public rooms of the hotels where he stayed owing to supersensitiveness about his physical shortcomings. On the other hand, he was by no means the types of old rip who travels with pseudo 'nieces' in his entourage. He was reputed to be colossally rich, but Gregory had never heard the word 'mistress' breathed in connection with his name.

She must be a poule, Gregory decided, but a devilish expensive one. Probably most of the heavy bracelets that loaded down her white arms were fake, but you cannot fake clothes as you can diamonds, and he knew that those simple lines of rich material which rose to cup her well formed breasts had cost a pretty penny. Besides, she was very-very beautiful.

A little frown of annoyance wrinkled Gregory's forehead, catching at the scar which lifted his left eyebrow until his face took on an almost satanic look. What a pity, he thought, that he was returning to England the following day. If only he had seen her soon after his arrival at Deauville it would have been fun to get to know her.

Gregory Sallust was no ascetic, yet it was quite a time since any woman had loomed on his horizon about whom he had felt that it was really worth while to exert himself. This girl was just the type to rouse him from his lethargy into sudden intense activity. He knew from past experience that he could sweep most women off their feet inside a week with the intense excitement of a hectic, furious, laughing, yet determined pursuit, and what magnificent elation could be derived from carrying a rich man's darling off from under his very nose despite her better sense and the rich man's opposition. Gregory had done it before and he would certainly have attempted it in this case if only he had had a few days left to work in.

The more he studied her, between making bets, the more the desire to do so strengthened in his mind. He could never bring himself to be anything but 'un-cleish' to 'nice' girls, however attractive, and he barred respectable married women, except on rare occasions, on practical grounds. The aftermath of broken hearts and tearstained faces with possible threats of being cited as correspondent by an injured husband was, he considered, too heavy a price to pay. He preferred, when he took the plunge into an affair, a woman whom he could be reasonably certain was content to play his own game. Nothing too easy in fact it was essential to his pleasure that she should move in luxurious surroundings and be distinguished of her kind, and so quite inaccessible except to men of personality even if they had the wealth which he had not. Then, when victory was achieved, they could laugh together over their ruses, delight in one another to the full and, when the time came as it surely must, part before satiation; a little sadly, perhaps, but as friends who had enriched life's experience by a few more perfect moments.

'Rien ne va plus' came the level voice of the croupier and Gregory realised, too late, that he had failed to place his stake.

Really, he thought, I'm behaving like an idiot and if I'm not careful I shall be thinking of that lovely face of hers for weeks. I've known this sort of thing happen to me before, so I'd better go home to bed before I get her too much on my mind.

He pushed the cards away from him and, collecting his chips, stood up. Then, just as he left the table, a simple action caught his eye while the players sat tense receiving their cards for a new deal.