Dennis Wheatley - Vendetta in Spain

To his companion de Richleau said in a low voice, 'Either at the back, or more probably at one side, there will be a kitchen entrance. I want you to find and cover it. Should anyone come out, hold them up. If they refuse to surrender or attempt to run for it you are to shoot them down without further warning. For that I accept full responsibility. I'll give you ten minutes to take up your station, then I am going in.'

With a happy grin Veragua produced his automatic, snapped its breech back and forth to make sure that it was in perfect working order, then moved off into the semi-darkness.

Ten minutes can be a very long time when waiting to go into action. More than once de Richleau gave an impatient look at his wrist-watch. Now and again, too, he gave an uneasy glance up and down the road. In spite of the precautions he had taken to keep his investigation secret, the many inquiries he had made about Ferrer must inevitably have led to the anarchists learning about his activities, and the attempt on his life that had been made that afternoon led him to believe that they were doing their utmost to keep constant track of his movements.

But the country road was deserted. No movement of shadow suggested a lurking figure in the hedgerows. At last the ten minutes were up. The villa was some way from the road. With an even step he advanced up the fifty-yard-long garden path and pressed the front door bell.

He stood there, his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of the encounter to come. The peal of the bell shrilled through the silent house, but no one came to answer it. Holding his breath, he listened intently. Muffled sounds of movement came faintly from inside the villa. With a grim smile he rang again.

Still no one came, and he could no longer hear sounds from within. He rang a third time, keeping his finger pressed on the bell push for a full half minute. Footsteps sounded on the far side of the door. There came the noise of bolts being shot back then the door opened a few inches and a female face peered out at him.

With a swift thrust of his knee and shoulder he forced the door further open. Then he jabbed the muzzle of his pistol into the woman's stomach and said:

'Open your mouth and I'll fill you full of lead.'

She gave a gasp and stood back. In the dim light from the single lamp in the hall he now saw that she was his old acquaintance, Dolores Mendoza. Recognizing her brought him a new elation. It meant that Teresa's information had been up-to-date, and that it was unlikely now that he had come out there on a wild goose chase only to find that his quarry had moved on to another hiding place.

Forcing Dolores back a few paces he closed the door, felt behind him with his free hand till he found the key, turned it in the lock, pulled it out and pocketed it. Then he asked Dolores, 'Where is the lavatory?'

Giving him a surprised look, she made a gesture towards the end of the passage. So far it seemed that, after the lapse of years, she had not recognized him. Under the threat of the pistol she obediently turned and led the way down the narrow hall. At its end there was a door in front of which she halted.

'Open it and go inside,' he ordered her. She did as she was bid. He saw that it had a window through which she might squeeze herself. But, even if she did, the villa was so far out in the country that there seemed no possibility of her bringing help on the scene before he had accomplished what he had come to do.

Under the brighter light of the oil lamp burning there his features stood out more clearly. Suddenly her pale blue eyes widened, and she exclaimed, 'Chirikov! No; the French spy - de Quesnoy.'

He nodded. Returning her angry stare with a calm scrutiny he saw that her sallow face had grown much older; but that was not to be wondered at as she had spent a year in the dungeons of Montjuich. With an ironical bow, he remarked:

'I recall that we once talked of spending a week-end together on the Costa Brava. As I would cheerfully have murdered you rather than make love to you, you may consider yourself lucky that you have had three more years of life than you deserve. Sit down now and remain quiet. If you start shouting I shall come back and you will die in this place so well suited to the life you have led.'

Taking the key from the inside of the door he transferred it to the outside, shut the door and locked her in. With his pistol at the ready, he opened and threw back the door on the right-hand side of the passage. No sound broke the stillness indicating any reaction to his swift movement. Having listened intently for a moment he stepped inside.

The room was square and evidently used as a study. Opposite the door there was a large desk. As he stood there, facing him on its front was a solid row of thick reference books, and to its right there was a standard lamp that lit it, making a pool of brightness in the otherwise dim room.

De Richleau had little doubt that up to ten minutes ago Ferrer had been working there. At the ring of the doorbell he would have gone into some prepared hiding place. Had it been in England it might have been a priest's hole; but in Spain there had never been any necessity for such secret rooms. In any case, the house was not old enough to have that sort of thing. Therefore, he would be either in the cellars or up in an attic.

Before going in search of him the Duke decided to take a quick look round. Walking forward to the left-hand side of the desk, he glanced at the paper that lay spread out on it. Somewhat to his surprise he saw that it was a Russian newspaper about two weeks old. He then remembered Ferrer's passion for obtaining first-hand news from all parts of Europe. Beside the paper lay a Russian-Spanish dictionary that Ferrer had evidently been using to look up the meaning of words he did not understand.

As de Richleau's eyes fell upon the dictionary his heart suddenly stood still. The sight of it had rung a terrible bell that summoned up past memories. The last time he had seen a Russian-Spanish dictionary had been three years ago in his lodgings down by Barcelona's commercial harbour. He had then been using one to tutor a student that Ferrer had sent him, named Ruben Pineda. The young man had been one of Ferrer's brightest pupils. Later, on the night that de Richleau had so nearly lost his life, it had emerged that it was Pineda who, on Ferrer's instructions, had searched his lodging and been fooled into believing that he really was a Russian refugee.

But now it was he who had been fooled. Pineda had pulled a very clever bluff. Trusting in the beard he had grown, that three years had elapsed since they had met, and that he had since changed his name, he had said that they had become acquainted at the Somaten Club. That had seemed natural enough. But it was not the truth. Pineda had become Veragua.

The Duke stood beside Ferrer's desk, his mind working like a dynamo. He had left Veragua to guard the back entrance. Instead, by now he might have entered the house with the intention of helping his old master to escape. At that moment he heard a faint sound. Swinging round he saw Veragua standing in the open doorway. The young man had a smile on his face and was pointing a pistol at him.

21

The Twice-turned Tables

As de Richleau stared at the tall, smiling anarchist who now threatened his life, the truth about the afternoon's events flashed upon him. It was not, as he had supposed, that some of Ferrer's friends had learned of the investigation he was making and had been trailing him, waiting for some opportunity to murder him in a place where there would be a good chance of their escaping capture.

He had told no one that he was going to endeavour to trace Teresa - no one except Veragua. And he had not even mentioned her to him until after they had left the mill. But he had then confided to the young man that the woman he was going to see had been Ferrer's mistress, so he had good hopes of getting something out of her.