The Sultan's Daughter rb-7

by Dennis Wheatley

  Such was the man upon whose pleasure Roger waited.

  And wait he did. Half an hour went by, an hour, two hours, yet still no one came for him. At half past eleven he went out to the bearded official and sent a message up that M. de Talleyrand was expecting him at twelve; so he could not remain there much longer. A reply came down that the Minister regretted the delay. Would he be good enough to return at six o'clock?

  Having said that he would, he left the building. His interminable wait had frayed his nerves almost to breaking-point and now he had another six hours to get through somehow before he would know Fouche's intentions towards him. Hailing a hackney-coach, he had himself driven to the Rue Taitbout. Talleyrand received him with his usual affability, listened sympathetically to his angry account of the way in which he had been treated, then said:

  'To keep you on tenterhooks like this is typical of Fouche's methods. He hopes to undermine your confidence in yourself. You must not let him. It is obvious that this wretched business has already had a serious effect on you. If you brood on it all the afternoon that may prove disastrous. I shall prescribe for you. First, a good gallop. I will order a horse to be saddled. Ride him out to Vincennes and ride hard. If you kill the animal, no matter. On your return, go to a fencing school. Spend two hours there and fight at least six bouts. Then dinner. Eat fish, not meat, for that is heavy and would dull your brain. With dinner a pint of champagne, but no other alcohol either before or after. Tonight I am holding a reception. I shall hope that you will be free to attend it. But, should you not, Bonaparte will be here and I will tell him of my fears for you.'

  With a thin smile, Roger thanked him for his counsel and promised to follow it. The fresh air and violent exercise did him a world of good. Soon after five o'clock he sat down at La Belle litoile to a large Sole Colbert, and took with it his ' medicine as directed'. At six o'clock he was back at the Ministry of Police, still extremely anxious but now able to make himself look as though he had nothing to worry about.

  This time he was taken straight upstairs to the Minister's room, a large apartment the walls of which were entirely hidden by row upon row of filing cabinets. Fouché was sitting at a big desk with his back to a tall window, but it was now dark and lamps had been lit which shed their light only on his desk and on any visitor seated opposite him.

  He was now forty and, in appearance, quite exceptionally unattractive. Although strong, his tall body was so lean and angular that it gave the impression that he was suffering from some wasting disease. His face was thin and bony, with the complexion of a corpse. From the point of his large, sharp nose there frequently hung a drop, as all his life he suffered from a perpetual cold. His red hair was sparse and brushed over his scalp in rats' tails. His lips were thin and his heavily lidded eyes greenish. They had a fish-like appearance, but few people had ever looked right into them because, when talking to anyone, he always kept his glance averted. Nobody who did not know him would have thought it possible that he was capable of working twenty hours a day, as he often did for long periods; for he seemed to be so drained of all vitality that within the week he would be measured for his coffin.

  Without looking at Roger he stood up, made a slight bow, waved his bony hand towards the chair opposite his desk and said, ' So we old acquaintances meet again.'

  ' A classic phrase,' smiled Roger, sitting down. ' And I am happy to think that we are both better situated than when last we met.'

  'I must congratulate you on having become a Colonel in the French Army.'

  ' And I you in having become Minister of Police.'

  Fouche studied the fingernails of his right hand. ' You may also do so on another count. You will recall that when last we parted I was penniless and about to go into banishment. I have since succeeded in making for myself a . . . well, let us call it a modest fortune.'

  ' I am glad to hear it.'

  'You will also recall that, on the occasion to which I refer, you gave me a hundred louis.'

  ' That is so,' Roger murmured, greatly surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. He thought it hardly possible that Fouche could have raised the matter with the intention of showing gratitude, but added:

  ' Instead of exile in penury, you had been counting on Barras giving you some minor appointment which would have supported you. You were, I remember, greatly distressed by the thought of the hardship your wife would have to endure. That was my reason for giving you a sum to go on with.'

  '1 know it. At the time I believed that you had thrown it to me as a sop because you had cheated me. But later I learned that, although you had got the better of me by your wits, it was through no fault of yours that Barras treated me so abominably. I am now able to repay your generous gesture.'

  As he spoke, Fouche produced from a drawer in his desk a little sack. It clinked as he pushed it across to Roger, and he added, 'There are a hundred louis. The hundred you lent me proved the basis of my fortune.'

  Scarcely able to believe his eyes and ears, Roger leaned forward, took up the sack, and said with a smile, ' Many thanks, Monsieur le Ministre. You enable me to hope that, in future, relations between us may be more cordial.'

  Fouche gave a loud sniff then, with a swift, covert glance from beneath his heavy eyelids, replied, '1 have only one regret. It is that I could not put guineas into the bag instead of louis. The coin of your own country might have proved more useful to you, Mr. Brook; er . . . that is, if my police had allowed you to get out of Paris with it.'

  The Great Conspiracy

  Roger's smile froze on his lips. In spite of his amazement at finding Fouche's attitude to him so different from the hostility he had expected, he had for a few moments allowed himself to be deceived into thinking that his old enemy had sent for him only to repay a debt. But nothing of the kind. He had simply been playing the sort of cat-and-mouse game in which he delighted. Again there arose in Roger's mind those awful visions of years spent forgotten in a dark dungeon in some remote fortress, or dying of yellow fever at Cayenne. With a supreme effort he succeeded in preventing his face from showing any marked reaction, and asked quietly:

  ' Why should you suppose that I wish to leave Paris? ' ' Does not every man wish at times to return to his own country? '

  ' France is my country.'

  ' Oh, come! ' Fouche's thin-lipped mouth twitched in a faint smile. ' Others appear to believe that, but you cannot expect me to accept such a barefaced lie. Need I remind you that, when first I came upon you as a boy in Rennes, you admitted to me that you were the son of Admiral Brook and had run away from home? '

  ' In for a penny, in for a pound,' thought Roger, so he snapped back,'1 need no reminding of how you murdered poor old Doctor Fdnelon and stole our money.'

  Fouche gave a slight shrug. ' It was not murder. My pistol went off by accident. And I needed the money. But, your admission apart, four years later I followed you to England in the hope of earning the reward offered for the documents you stole from the

  '16

  Marquis de Rochambeau. I came upon you at your home, Grove Place, at Lymington. You cannot deny that.'

  '1 do not seek to do so; nor deny that I am Admiral Brook's son.'

  'Then you admit that you are an English spy? '

  '1 certainly do not. The Marquis's papers came into my hands by chance. Young as I was I realized that, if I could get them to London, it might prevent a war between England and France. I proved right in that. It was your misfortune that, after you regained the papers, I got them back. But at that time we were private individuals. Neither you nor I were then agents employed by our Governments.'

  ' That is true; also that you got the better of me. It was the first time, but not the last. I will admit that you are a most redoubtable opponent. The way in which you made off with the Dauphin was masterly. Yet had I left Paris but half an hour earlier I would have caught you and had you guillotined for it.'

  In spite of the peril he was now in, Roger felt on the top of his mettle and replied wi
th a laugh, ' For that again, you cannot accuse me of espionage. I acted as I did on account of a personal promise that I had made to Queen Marie Antoinette, not as the agent of a foreign Power.'

  That was only a half-truth, but Fouche could not contest it. He was doodling on a piece of paper and, without looking up, said, ' Later, you deceived me into believing that you still had the boy, then told me he was dead. What was the truth of the matter? '

  For a moment Roger hesitated, then he replied,' You will recall that, as I pushed off with him in the boat, you and your men fired upon us. He was hit by a ball and died that night.' That was not the truth, but was near enough, for the boy was dead before Roger landed on the far shore of Lake Geneva. After a moment he went on:

  ' Neither can you accuse me of espionage in the matter of Madame Bonaparte's diary. I retrieved it from you only because Barras wished her to marry his proteg£, the young General. She would have refused to do so had we not suppressed the evidence that her first marriage to de Beauharnais was bigamous, owing to her having already married William de Kay while still in her teens.'

  ' Yes, yes; but all this does not make you a Frenchman.'

  ' Not legally, I agree. Yet for many years past I have lived in

  France and thought of myself as a Frenchman. You are well aware of the part I played during the Revolution. Admittedly, it is known to you that at heart I was a Royalist. But what of it? Thousands of Royalists have since become good Republicans, and thousands of Republicans would tomorrow, if they thought a Restoration likely, become Royalists.'

  ' That is true. But the fact remains that you, an Englishman, now pose as a Frenchman born in Strasbourg, and that you have succeeded in getting yourself appointed as one of General Bonaparte's aides-de-camp. In such a position you must become privy to many State secrets.'

  ' Certainly, and why should I not? ' Roger asked boldly. ' My relatives in England long since cast me off, owing to my Liberal opinions. I am making a career for myself in France, and a fine one. To betray the country of my adoption for the sake of the country of my birth would be to cut off my nose to spite my face. Surely you see that? '

  For a full minute Fouché continued to doodle, then he said, ' You once did me a kindness but, on balance, I have no cause to love you; and in the past you have given me ample proof that you are a very dangerous man. I can see no reason why I should allow you to continue to perpetrate upon General Bonaparte and others the fraud that you were born a Frenchman. Since I have personal knowledge of your origin, any form of trial would be redundant and, as Minister of Police, I am in a position to have you swiftly eliminated. To do so seems to me only a sensible precaution against the possibility that you are lying to me.'

  Realizing that the crisis of the interview was at hand, Roger said firmly, '1 agree that you have the power to give orders that I should be carted off to some hideous fate, before my friends could even demand that I be formally accused and tried. But what of afterwards? Let us consider two possibilities.

  ' First, we will assume that I am at heart loyal to France. You would then have deprived your country of a useful servant. There would be only your word for it that I was a traitor. No one would believe you. It would be thought that you had abused your position to exact a private vengeance. Bonaparte, Talleyrand and a dozen other of my friends would never forgive you. And the Army, which now terms me '' le brave Breuc ", would execrate your name.

  ' Secondly, we will assume that I am a spy. You might employ false witnesses, but you could produce no convincing proof that I am Admiral Brook's son. Again you would be disbelieved, and attract to yourself the same enmity and opprobrium. But more. Were I an agent of Mr. Pitt, can you really believe that I should come here like a lamb to the slaughter? Certainly not. I should be hand in glove with the Royalist agents. I should have learned from them that, in the summer of '97, a certain Citizen Joseph Fouche offered his aid in an attempt to place Louis XVIII on the throne of France. I should-'

  'There is not one word of truth in that,' Fouche broke in quickly.

  ' Of course not,' Roger agreed smoothly, ' nor is there in your fanciful idea that I am an English agent. Yet if I were, you may be certain that, before placing myself in your hands, I would have arranged with my friends that, if you dealt with me as a spy, they should at once put it about all over Paris that, when the Government of France ceased to give you employment, you had offered to betray the Revolution. To that one should add that, just as you might employ false witnesses against me, so the Royalist agents would produce letters, er . . . faked of course, that people might accept as proof, that you had been in communication with the Court at Mitau.'

  It was Roger's only card, a bluff based on the information Talleyrand had given him. There might be no incriminating letters in existence, for Fouche was so cautious in all his dealings that he had probably communicated with Mitau only through a third party and had never put pen to paper. But such letters could be forged and it was a certainly that the Royalists in Mitau would willingly have co-operated in attempting to ruin an ex-terrorist of Fouche's standing.

  As the cadaverous Minister continued to stare silently at his desk, Roger went on in a conciliatory tone, ' But all this is beside the point. No one could ever seriously accuse you of scheming to betray the Republic that you played so large a part in establishing, any more than anyone other than yourself could seriously accuse me of being one of Mr. Pitt's agents. And that is the crux of the matter. That I was born an Englishman, to you I readily admit; but that I am a spy, I deny. Therefore, should you use your power arbitrarily to terminate my career, you will be doing a deliberate disservice to your country for the purpose of satisfying your private malice.'

  ' No, no! * Fouche shook his head. ' I am not a malicious man. I have never willingly made an enemy in my life. My only enemies are those who are jealous of me.'

  'Then why make one of General Bonaparte, as you certainly will if you make away with a man whose services he regards as valuable? '

  Fouche sniffed, then repeated,' General Bonaparte. I gather that you are on intimate terms with him? '

  ' That I can certainly claim to be, and something more than an ordinary military aide-de-camp. In the winter of '98, I went to England on a secret mission for him and brought him back accurate information about the defences on the south coast there. How can you reconcile that with your idea that I am here as a spy for England? '

  '1 would like to have your opinion of Bonaparte.' ' It is that he is the most remarkable man alive. As a soldier, he is head and shoulders above any other General. But not only that. He is a great administrator. His head is stuffed with more general knowledge than those of any other ten men you could name, yet his mind is so lucid that he never confuses issues. He has immense courage and the ability to make decisions on the instant.'

  ' You confirm all that I have heard from other sources. Do you think that he intends to stage a coup d'etatl '

  ' If I knew, I certainly should not tell you. But I will offer you a piece of advice. Everyone knows that the Directory is on its last legs. Whatever may emerge from its downfall, you can be certain that Bonaparte is too strong a man to allow himself to be trampled underfoot and, if he does seek power, he will have many friends to aid him. Yet, at this time, when the future is still in doubt, he cannot have too many friends. You would be wise to become one of them.'

  Fouche's fish-like eyes suddenly flickered over Roger's face. Looking away again, he said, ' Advice from a man like yourself is worthy of very serious consideration. In my view, though, it will be all or nothing. The Jacobins are again very powerful, and he is not a politician. If, before he is ready to strike, they accuse him in the Five Hundred of conspiring to become a Dictator, nothing can save him. He will be declared an Outlaw, then no one will dare raise a voice in his defence. On the other hand, if he does intend to bring about a coup d'etat and is successful, he'll brook 110 rivals in the new Government. He will seize supreme power for himself.'

  ' And, as a
result,' Roger added, ' every plum on the tree will go to those who have aided him. In my position, devoted to him as I am, I stand to make my fortune. Can you any longer suppose that I should throw such a chance away because I happen to have been born in England? '

  A bleak smile again twitched Fouche's thin lips as he replied, '1 have never taken you for a sentimentalist. But, er . . . with regard to your advice. When Bonaparte was last in Paris, I was busying myself with a commercial venture in northern France; so I have never met him. I should find it interesting to do so, in order that I can form my own opinion of the man.'

  Roger's heart suddenly began to hammer in his chest. Each beat was as if it cried aloud, 'I've won! I've won! I've won! ' With a little bow, he said, '1 should be very happy to arrange a meeting.'

  ' That would be to add to my indebtedness to you,' Fouche's shifty glance again met Roger's for an instant. 'However, when suggesting it to him, please do not give the impression that I intend to commit myself to anything.'

  'Assuredly not. But, in the event of your impression proving favourable and certain movements being set on foot, you would, no doubt, wish to keep in touch with him. It might be ill-advised to do so openly with any frequency. If you felt that, and were also averse to putting anything on paper . .

  ' Mon cher Colonel, I take your thought. And I am sure that I can count on your discretion as a verbal courier between us. After all, although you and I differed in our political opinions we worked together for the overthrow of Robespierre, did we not? In this case it seems unlikely that even our political opinions would differ.'

  ' Monsieur le Ministre, I am delighted that you should think that, but not at all surprised. France is in a wretched state and has been so for far too long. All sensible men now seem to agree that what the country needs is a strong man, capable of bringing order out of chaos. General Bonaparte is such a man, and one can think of no other.'