Dennis Wheatley - Vendetta in Spain

One night after he had been in Yalta just on a fortnight he was again asked to dine there, and the Baron told him that it would be a men's party, the piece de resistance of which would be to drink some old Tokay that his cousin had sent him as a present from Hungary. Eight of them sat down to table and remained at it for close on four hours. It was a typical Russian dinner of its kind, at which ten courses were served with an interval between each for pleasant conversation during which another wine was brought round by the sommelier. Finally they drank the old Tokay with Muscat grapes and nectarines.

Afterwards the Baron suggested a game of faro; so they adjourned to another room and for a further two hours sat round a table gambling gold ten-, twenty- and fifty-rouble-pieces on the turn of the pack against the two lines of cards on which they had placed their stakes. By two o'clock de Richleau, who was rarely lucky as a gambler, became weary of consistently losing. As he was down some twelve hundred roubles, no one could suggest that he was withdrawing to conserve his winnings; so he got up from the table and asked his host's leave to go home.

The Baron made no demur and said that he would ring for a carriage to take the Duke back to his hotel; but as it was a fine, warm night de Richleau begged him not to bother and said that he would much prefer to walk. Having insisted that none of them should leave the table he thanked his host for a most enjoyable evening, nodded good-bye to the others and went out to the hall where a waiting footman gave him his hat and cloak and saw him out of the front door.

As he walked through the garden he sniffed the air appreciatively. There had been a slight shower and the fragrant atmosphere was refreshing after hours spent savouring the aroma of old brandy in a room heavy with cigar smoke. The moonfiowers were out and the moon herself lit the scene for most of the time from a sky that was only about one-third broken cloud.

For the first part of his way down the slope along a road fringed with other villas in their gardens he could see the moonlight glinting on the sea, then the roofs of the town hid it from him. It was just as he was entering the b\iilt-up area formed of solid blocks of lower-class dwellings interspersed with small, shuttered shops, that he got the impression that he was being followed.

The streets were deserted, only an occasional light showed in an upper window; the silence was not broken even by the distant rumble of the wheels of a drosky over cobbles. De Richleau strained his ears. A few more minutes and he became certain that not far behind him footsteps were echoing his own.

He had not the least reason to suppose that anyone was likely to attack him. It might quite well be that whoever was following him was, like himself, simply walking towards one of the big hotels on the promenade. On the other hand it might be some night-hawk robber who had scented money at the sight of his opera cloak and top hat.

To test the situation he turned out of the street through which he was walking into a narrower one that ran parallel with the sea front. The footsteps still followed and soon closed the gap. They were now only about fifty yards behind. He took a quick look over his shoulder, but the curve of the street prevented him from getting a sight of his shadower. Intrigued now by this possibility of a little excitement after three months of quiet life, he deliberately slowed his pace for the next hundred yards, then turned into the dark opening of an unlit arcade.

Holding his breath, he waited for a minute or more while the footsteps grew louder. At the entrance of the arcade they halted. Leaning forward from a doorway in which he had partially concealed himself, he glimpsed a slim figure peering in his direction. His shadower must have caught sight at the same instant of the white blob made by de Richleau's face. Whipping out a knife, with silent ferocity the man leapt at him.

The poor wretch might have fared better had he attacked a man-eating tiger. The Duke lunged with his malacca cane straight at the face of his assailant. It caught him in the mouth, knocking out three of his teeth. Next second de Richleau's left hand had reached out, seized the wrist of the hand that held the knife, and borne down upon it. At the same moment his right foot came up to deliver a sharp kick in his attacker's groin. Finally, having him off balance, by a violent jerk on his wrist he swung him sideways so that his head smashed the window of the shop in the doorway of which the Duke had taken temporary cover.

De Richleau released his hold and stepped back. The man collapsed and fell in a writhing, groaning heap at his feet. He did not want to go to the bother of charging him, and even felt a twinge of compassion at the terrible punishment he had inflicted. Taking a twenty-rouble gold piece from his pocket he was about to thrust it into one of the man's hands and leave him there when, attracted by the sound of breaking glass, a policeman came running up.

Had that policeman not happened to be within earshot the incident would have ended there, many things might have panned out very differently, and it is certain that de Richleau's life for the next few years would not have taken the course it did. But Fate, in the guise of a stolid Russian policeman, having appeared on the scene, the Duke now had no alternative but to give an account of what had happened and agree to charge with assault the man who lay sprawled in the gutter.

Groaning and blubbering the man was got to his feet, but on the policeman's questioning him he would not answer so much as a word. Fortunately the Police Station was not far off and, partly supported by the burly policeman, he was led there, the Duke bringing up the rear. At the Station de Richleau again told his story to an Inspector. The man was again questioned but could not be induced to reply or even give his name.

This struck both the Duke and the Inspector as queer, since the man had nothing to gain by keeping silent. He was fair-haired, dressed in a decent summer-weight suit of gabardine and had not the appearance of a common thug. His face was smeared with blood from cuts on the head and the gaps of the three teeth that had been struck from his mouth, and he stood, now hand-cuffed, with his eyes cast down; but that would not have prevented the police from recognizing him had he been a known local criminal.

In exasperation the Inspector turned to de Richleau and said, 'Your Excellency, I mean to get to the bottom of this. We'll find a way to make him talk. Wait here, please, for a few minutes.' Then he signed to two of his men to take the prisoner into the next room, went in after them, and closed the door behind him.

The Duke knew very well the sort of thing that was about to happen behind the closed door; but he had no power to intervene, even if he had wished to do so. It was common practice in the countries in which he had spent the past few years and, with only a slightly lesser degree of brutality, in most European countries as well. Besides, the man had, after all, tried to knife him, yet was not a known criminal; so he was now curious to know who he was and why he had made the attempt.

After about five minutes the door opened again. The prisoner, blubbering once more, his head hanging slack and supported between the two policemen, was dragged out. The Inspector followed and, giving the Duke a puzzled look, said:

'We haven't got out of him yet why he attacked Your Excellency, but perhaps you can enlighten us. He is a Spaniard and his name is Benigno Ferrer.'

17

Vendetta

De richleau could hardly believe his ears, but at the sound of his name being pronounced the prisoner slowly raised his head and stared sullenly at him. In spite of the blood-smeared face and swollen lips the Duke recognized him now. The man was undoubtedly Benigno Ferrer.