Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (32 page)

Half an hour
later, they parted on the most friendly terms, the Count urging De Richleau to
come to see him again, and with true Hungarian hospitality asking him, while in
Vienna, to regard his house as his own.

It was nearly
three in the morning when De Richleau got back to Sacher’s. Some of the lights
in the lounge were still on, but most of them had been switched off. As he
crossed it, a tall figure rose from an arm-chair in a dim corner. His attention
caught by the movement, the Duke glanced in that direction. Suddenly his sixth
sense warned him that in some way the big form emerging from the shadows
menaced himself. Next second, with relief, yet a lingering uneasiness, he saw
that it was Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust.

 “So there you
are, eh!” boomed Sir Pellinore. “Been gaddin’ about the night-haunts, I
suppose? Why the hell couldn’t you reply to my message before going out?”

“Well, this is a
surprise,” exclaimed the Duke. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Waiting to see
you, of course. Been kickin’ me heels in this damn place for the past three
days. Haven’t you had the chit I left for you at the office, sayin’ I wanted to
see you urgently?”

“No. I returned
from Ischl only this evening, and I had to go straight out to a dinner party. I
fear I neglected to open the batch of letters I was given. I am so sorry you
should have been inconvenienced on my account.”

“Never mind!
Come and sit down. What’ll you drink? I’ve got some K
ü
mmel
here. It’s the real Russian stuff, and not too bad. Anyhow, I’ve polished off
half a bottle of it while waitin’ for you. Will you join me, or have some other
tipple?”

“I’d prefer a
brandy and soda,” said the Duke.

Sir Pellinore pressed
the bell, and when the night waiter appeared addressed him in an incredible,
b
ê
che-de-mer
consisting of mangled French, German and English.

As the man did
not appear to understand the order clearly, De Richleau intervened and said in
German. “The gentleman says he is hungry and wants some foie-gras sandwiches.
Not a few, but a whole plateful. You are also to bring a bottle of brandy, a
tumbler and a syphon.”

When the waiter
had gone, the Duke smiled across at Sir Pellinore. “You know, all these hotel
servants understand English perfectly, and it might save you quite a lot of
trouble if you gave your orders to them in that language.”

“No! No!”
growled Sir Pellinore. “When in Rome, you know! I always talk to these fellers
in their own lingo. Mustn’t let them get away with the idea that we don’t
understand ’em. Some are such fools that they don’t get the hang of their own
gibberish to start with; or such knaves that they pretend they don’t. But I
always get what I want in the long run.”

“I’m sure you do,”
remarked the Duke mildly. “But tell me, what brings you to Vienna?”

“I’ve told you
already. That report of yours. Damn fine work! Damn fine! How right I was that
a feller like you could go sniffin’ around in all sorts of places without
arousin’ suspicion. You may not know it, but you’re a classic.”

“Thanks,” remarked
De Richleau with an icy air. “But I disliked parts of my mission intensely, and
I am happy to think that my ‘sniffing’ days are over.”

“Oh no they’re
not!”

“Oh yes they
are!”

“Don’t be a fool.
The stuff you sent us was of incalculable value. Who else have we who could
have got himself invited to lunch with old von Hotzepoff, made a monkey out of
Dimivitch, and danced with the wife of Franz Frederick?”

“Well, you may
make up your mind to one thing—any lunching or dancing that I do in the future
will be entirely for my own amusement.”

“Don’t you
believe it. You’re British, aren’t you?”

At this point
the waiter entered with the brandy and a plate piled high with sandwiches. Sir
Pellinore produced a large note from his pocket and said to the Duke:

“I’m not staying
here, but with Maurice de Bunsen; so I’ll settle up now. This will cover both
bottles and the rest of it, with enough over to keep this feller in beer for a
month. Tell him to keep the change and go to bed, or else bury his head under
the sink in his pantry, and that if I see him snooping around I’ll pitch him
out of the window.”

De Richleau made
a suitable translation, and helped himself to a brandy and soda. He was now
feeling distinctly perturbed at the turn the conversation was taking, but was
quite determined not to give way to Sir Pellinore’s evident desire to involve
him afresh in the espionage he detested. Meanwhile, the grey-haired giant
opposite him had crammed a sandwich into his mouth and was chewing vigorously.
As he swallowed the remains, he picked up another and remarked:

“Not bad fodder.
I always have a kindly eye for geese when I see them from a train. Silly birds,
but useful. Have some?”

As the Duke had
had nothing to eat since dinner, he started to help diminish the pile. Then the
forceful voice boomed again:

“Where were we?
I know: that thunderin’ fine report you sent in. War’s inevitable. Can’t doubt
that in view of your sources. By the by, I’ve brought you a thousand quids’
worth of shares in Vickers-Armstrong. I need hardly warn you not to sell. They’ll
be worth ten thousand by the autumn.”

“That’s very
kind of you,” replied the Duke. “But I am quite well off, and I did what I did
for my country, so I have no wish to take money from British Government funds.”

“Government, eh!”
Sir Pellinore guffawed. “That’s a good one! If you were on the regular list,
about all you’d get is half your expenses and a bonus of a tenner. No. This is
my pigeon.”

“In that case I
am especially grateful. But I see no reason why I should deplete your private
fortune.”

“Don’t you worry
about that. Some people spend their cash on horses; some, like old George
Holford, on orchids; some, on pictures; some, on gels. Thank God I’ve never had
to do the last. Always got plenty by slapping their bottoms. Anyhow, as our
hush-hush gentry are always kept short of money, I get a lot of fun backing a
winner for them when I can find one. As for depleting my fortune, that odd
thousand won’t stop me payin’ my lemonade bill. I stand in to make half a
million out of Vickers’ shares as soon as we start to fight.”

De Richleau
stiffened slightly. “Do you infer that you have used the information I obtained
for you with the intention of making a fortune out of other people?”

“Now, now! Keep
the saddle between your knees and use your common sense,” Sir Pellinore
admonished him. “I’m not robbin’ the widow and the orphan. They’re being paid
what they ask for their shares here and now. If war comes the shares will go
up. Somebody’s got to take the profit. It will be me—that’s all. I’m an awful
fool about most things. Everybody knows that. But I seem to be lucky where
dabblin’ on the Stock Exchange is concerned.”

“Damn it, man!”
the Duke exploded. “Have you got the face to tell me that you’re gambling on
war—actually hoping for it?”

“Good God, no!”
exclaimed Sir Pellinore angrily. “What the hell d’you think I’m doing sitting
here talking to you? I’d lose my stake gladly if only we could stop it. Not
that I
can
lose. Shares won’t go down in any case. But that’s beside the
point.”

“And how do you
suppose that I can stop what we both now consider to be almost inevitable?”

“By taking up
the game again, and doing as well as you did before.”

“I flatly refuse
to spy further on my Austrian friends.”

“They’ll be your
enemies before you’re much older, my boy. Anyway, no one asked you to. You’ve
been clever enough to get under that feller Dimibitch’s skin, and I want you to
stay there.”

“I’m sorry. It
is impossible for me to return to Serbia. I have commitments here in Austria
that I cannot now escape.”

Sir Pellinore
raised one bushy eyebrow and gave the Duke a leery look. “So you’re still
chasin’ the little Archduchess, eh?”

“No!” replied De
Richleau stiffly. “I have an engagement to entertain the Heir Apparent and his
wife at my castle of Königstein on the 10th and 11th of next month.”

“There! What did
I say to Bindon? ‘Feller in his position could even get under the throne itself
if he wanted to.’ But your party need not stymie us. You’re not due back in
Belgrade till the 16th, so by all means amuse yourself till then.”

“I am not going
back to Belgrade.”

“Oh yes you are.”
Sir Pellinore stretched out a huge hand. “What d’you want for this job? Name your
own price. Winston’s seen your paper and he’s been polishin’ up his
Dreadnoughts like a maniac ever since. If you want to go fightin’, he’ll make
you a Royal Marine. But if you stick out for bein’ a soldier, the War Office
isn’t the last word. No, not by a long chalk. The Monarch can still hand out
commissions for any rank to whomever he likes. I’ll see him personally. Get him
to make you a Brigadier General. How’s that, eh?”

De Richleau had
gradually gone whiter, and now he almost hissed, “I thought I had made it
plain, both that such business is distasteful to me, and that I am not the sort
of person who accepts bribes.”

“Sorry!” said
Sir Pellinore. “Wrong horse. All right; we’ll start again.”

“You are wasting
your time and mine.”

“Oh no I’m not.
Never spent a more valuable evening in me life, Anyhow, we’ve got one point
clear. Now tell me what you’re hopin’ to get out of the accursed war?”

“Hoping to get!”
repeated the Duke. “You must be crazy!”

“Far from it.
The one point we have got clear is that you want it to happen. Well, seein’ you’re
a professional soldier, I suppose you can’t be blamed for that.”

The Duke was
quivering with rage. He stood up. “How dare you impute such motives to me?”

“Can’t help it,
my dear feller. Only one alternative. Shouldn’t have thought it myself, but all
things are possible. Perhaps you’re afraid to tackle Dimitich again, and I must
regard you as a lily-livered rat.”

His grey eyes
blazing, De Richleau snatched at his half-empty tumbler. In another second he
would have thrown its remaining contents in Sir Pellinore’s face. But the big
man had now also risen, and seized his arm just in time.

“Sorry!” he
grinned. “Wrong horse again. I did say, though, that I shouldn’t have thought
it myself. Still, if you’re not afraid to go back, it must be that you want the
war to happen. That’s logic, ain’t it?”

“No,” snarled De
Richleau. “It is not. I would do anything in the world to stop this terrible
catastrophe.”

Sir Pellinore
shrugged his mighty shoulders. “Then why d’you refuse to lend us a hand?”

“Because I have
already done what I was asked, and have got for you the only information that
really matters. All else can be of only minor importance: so one of your
regular agents can go to Belgrade and hold a watching brief there just as well
as I can. Please get it into your head once and for all that I am not a spy,
either by inclination or profession.”

“Who the hell
said you were? But you’re about the only person in the world who stands a
chance of keeping the peace of Europe.”

De Richleau gave
a weary sigh. “You’re talking the most utter nonsense. These maniacs have made
up their minds. The die is as good as cast already. There is positively nothing
that I can do to stop them.”

“Yes there is.
Go back and muscle in on this Black Hand gang. You’re the only living soul who’s
in a position to do that; and on it rests our one hope of preventing war. Our
one and only hope, d’you understand? If you can find out what sort of a mine
Dimithebitch means to spring, and let us know in advance, with God’s help we’ll
find a way to spike his guns and save humanity.”

For a moment the
Duke was silent. From the instant he had set eyes on Sir Pellinore in the
semi-darkened lounge, his instinct had told him that he was about to be caught
up in the web again. He had struggled against it vainly, seeing no reason why
he should allow himself to be made use of rather than someone else. But now Sir
Pellinore had produced a reason, against which there was no conceivable
argument. Slowly, he drank the rest of his brandy, then said bitterly:

“All right.
Since there is no alternative, I’ll do as you wish.”

“Thank God!”
exclaimed Sir Pellinore. “Here! Give me that tumbler, will you? I’m going to
knock off the rest of this K
ü
mmel. Heaven knows, I
need it.”

“Not as much as
I do,” muttered the Duke. “Damn you, I’ll change my mind unless you give me
half.”

At that they
both laughed; the tension was relaxed and they sat down to finish the bottle
between them, while they debated the situation with the mutual liking and
respect they really felt for one another.

Actually, there
was little more to be said. They discussed the possibility of De Richleau
returning to Belgrade before the 16th of June, in order to gain additional time
in which to work, but decided against it as being directly contrary to
Dimitriyevitch’s instructions, so too liable to arouse his suspicions. It was,
therefore, simply a question of the Duke acting on the orders he already had,
then discovering details of Dimitriyevitch’s intentions, if he possibly could,
in time for the British Foreign Office to take measures which might either
forestall or render them abortive. As an example, Sir Pellinore suggested that
if Serbia was about to make a formal demand that Austria should grant Home Rule
to Bosnia, the British Government could pour cold water on that powder barrel
by getting in first with a proposal that a conference of the nations should be
called to discuss the matter: but he had neither instructions to give, nor
advice to offer. He had come to Vienna only to secure a continuance of the Duke’s
help and, having achieved his object, now proposed to leave for home on the
next express.