Dennis Wheatley - Vendetta in Spain

He shook his head. 'No; I prefer to keep my cloak on. And it is not that which makes me hot. It is the smoke and the closeness of the atmosphere. As for the dancing, I can watch it again later.' Standing up, he took her gently by the arm and added, 'Come! I pray you, humour me. Let us go outside for a while and look at the stars.'

Assuming that he wanted to get over the first fences of making love to her, she gave him a roguish smile and let him lead her from the cave. Outside it was broad moonlight, and he saw with relief that no one was about. Still holding her arm he guided her over to one side where a great hump of rock threw a deep shadow. Halting there he turned, faced her, and said:

'Senorita, I have greatly enjoyed meeting you; but I must now tell you the real purpose of my visit. I have come here to discuss an urgent matter with Sanchez Ferrer.'

For a moment she did not reply; then she asked, 'Are you then a friend of his?'

De Quesnoy nodded, and lied, 'Yes; a most intimate friend. Please take me to him without delay.'

By way of answer she drew back her head, then like a striking cobra spat straight into his face.

13

A Strange Partnership

La torcera's spittle had barely landed on de Quesnoy's chin when both his hands shot out. They seized her wrists and brought them together with a smack in front of her. A second later he had put into practice a trick that he had taught his troops in North Africa for use when alone with a prisoner whom they suspected had a knife concealed in his robes. With a swift move of his right hand, before she had a chance to pull her wrists apart, he had grasped them both, then with his left hand he imprisoned both her thumbs.

Too late she made a violent effort to pull away from him. She was now as much his prisoner as if with his left hand he had a firm grip on a chain by which she was handcuffed to him; and his right hand was free. His grey eyes were blazing. Lifting his hand, he snarled:

'You bitch! Had you been a man I would have half-killed you for that.' Then he slapped her hard three times across the face.

At the sting of his slaps the black pupils of her eyes expanded, narrowing the surround of yellowish white, and tears sprang to them. She choked, gasped and gulped in a breath to shout for help. But again he was too quick for her. Pulling his revolver from under his cloak he jabbed it into her stomach, half-winding her. As she gave another gasp and almost doubled up, he drew it back, held it in front of her face, and snapped:

'This is loaded. Give one cry and you will never dance again.'

Panting, and with the tears now streaming down her coffee-coloured cheeks, she straightened herself. For a moment they stared at one another in silence, then he said:

'I came here to speak with Sanchez. Had you not behaved like a fool I would have paid you well for taking me to him. As things are you'll get no reward but will take me to him just the same.'

'I can't,' she muttered thickly.

He gave a cynical little laugh. 'D'you expect me to believe that?'

'Believe it or not, I cannot. He is no longer here.'

'That we shall see. If he is here, no doubt while strangers are about he will be skulking in your sleeping quarters. You will walk ahead of me and lead me to them. But I warn you, I am a crack shot. Should you attempt to run for it, shout a warning to him as we approach, or play me any other trick, I'll put a bullet through your ankle.' With a contemptuous gesture, as he released his hold on her thumbs, he flung her hands away from him.

Without a word she turned and, with her head now held high, set off along the cliff-face. As he followed her, he considered the possibility that she might be telling the truth. If so, he would have had all his trouble for nothing. He had all along been conscious that the evidence for his belief that he would find Sanchez in Granada was very slender. It was based only on the police report that he had taken a ticket to go there when he had fled from Barcelona, and the photograph of La Torcera that he had dropped. She had just admitted that he had been there, but that might have been only to lie low before making his trip to San Sebastian.

On the other hand, if Sanchez had returned he could have got back only that day, and it seemed most unlikely that he would have left again within a few hours. Besides, the Count reasoned that an obviously primitive and passionate woman like La Torcera would lie to protect her lover was to be expected. The thing he could not understand was where he had slipped up and enabled her to guess that he was not a friend of Sanchez's but an enemy. Having weighed the pros and cons, worried as he now was that he might be about to suffer a grievous disappointment, he still thought it a fifty-fifty chance that he would surprise Sanchez in her quarters. But it then occurred to him that she might yet try to cheat him, so he said:

T have another warning for you. If you take me to the quarters of some other woman, pretending that they are yours, you may fool me for the moment, but you will live to regret it. Tomorrow I can easily bribe someone to check up, and if I find you've tricked me I'll come back here when you least expect it. By the time I've done with you you'll not have the looks ever to attract a man again.'

'I'll not trick you,' she flung back over her shoulder. 'I've no need. I tell you Sanchez has gone from here. There is my lodging, just ahead of us.'

They had rounded a bend in the cliff and were approaching a six-feet high wall of whitewashed brick with a low door in its centre, which was evidently the entrance to a small cave. Catching up with her, he took her right hand and swiftly twisted it up in a half-nelson behind her back, as he said softly:

'Now; no nonsense. I am aware of Sanchez's skill in throwing a knife and I've no mind to have one in my chest. But he won't throw one at you, so you are going to stand in front of me. You will now call him by name so that he comes to the door of the cave. You are to call his name, mind, and not a word more.'

Obediently she called 'Sanchez!' There was no reply. But as no light was filtering through the cracks round the door de Quesnoy thought it possible that Sanchez was sleeping; so he made her call again, louder. Still there came no reply. After waiting a good minute the Count told her to call again, but the cave remained in darkness and there was no sound of movement from within it.

Releasing her arm, de Quesnoy said, 'It seems that you were telling the truth. Go into the cave now, leave the door wide open and light a candle or a lamp. If you have a knife there I warn you not to touch it. Remember, I can still put a bullet through your foot.'

With a shrug she did as he had told her. Through the open door he saw her light an oil lamp then, with his revolver still at the ready, he followed her inside.

The cave was no more than ten feet deep and a little less in width. From six feet in height at its entrance its rough-hewn ceiling sloped down to four at the back where there was a brick hearth with a chimney and a few iron cooking pots. Along one wall there was a truckle bed, against the other a long trestle table on which stood an enamel basin, toilet things, a mirror, and an array of cosmetics; in front of it stood a single chair.

As the Count put his foot over the door sill La Torcera drew back a little in the confined space, dropped him a mocking curtsy and said sarcastically, 'Enter, noble Prince, and be pleased to search my vast apartment; but have a care when crawling under the bed lest the giant who lies concealed there should seize upon and devour you.'

De Quesnoy gave her a half-smile. 'I admit that after all the unnecessary precautions I took against Sanchez being warned of my approach, you have the laugh of me. Incidentally, too, I am not a Prince. I used Kropotkin's name only because I thought you might know it and that it would influence you the more readily to take me to Sanchez.'