Although it was still early the streets were glaring in the summer heat, but El Retiro, with its curving, tree-lined drives and wooded areas, made a great oasis of leafy shade in the eastern part of the city. Its flowers were over and its grass sadly parched, but the attention of the two friends was concentrated on the few pedestrians passing in and out of the gate.
After a moment a thick-set, middle-aged man with a round, swarthy face approached them. “You are strangers, are you not?” he asked in excellent English. “Is this your first visit to Madrid?”
“No, Señor,” replied the Duke, “I am a metal merchant and this time I am here on behalf of my firm to collect some money.”
“Indeed? Well, as it happens, money is my business. I am a banker and if I can be of any assistance I should be happy to place the services of my organisation at your disposal.”
“That is most kind. May one inquire the name of your bank?”
The stranger produced his card. On it was written ‘Don Lluis Trueba. Director General. Banco Coralles, Madrid.’
In return the Duke took a letter out of his pocket and handed it over. “I think,” he said, “when you have glanced at that we had better move on. We shall attract less attention than if we stand here talking.”
Don Lluis nodded, and turning towards an almost deserted avenue the three fell into step.
De Richleau introduced Richard as “my secretary Hamish McGlusky” and added, “The Condesa will, of course, have given you particulars of the reason for my visit?”
“Yes, she made her wishes quite clear. I do not conceal the fact that I consider the transference of our entire gold reserve to you as an extreme measure. But crisis after crisis has so weakened the Government that even the most moderate people are being forced into taking one side or the other. I’m afraid a clash is now quite inevitable, and when it does come God knows what will happen. In any case my business is to carry out the Condesa’s instructions.”
“Then you do not question my title to this gold and my absolute right to do what I like with it?”
The banker smiled. “I shall not do so, Duke, when you have given me further proofs of your identity and shown me the documents given you by the Condesa.”
“Good. By the way, I should be glad if you would call me da Silva. I am carrying a Portuguese passport while in Madrid and Joao da Silva is the name upon it.”
“Ah! It is for you then that four suitcases arrived from England by aeroplane two days ago?”
“Yes. I do not wish to be seen by any of your people at the bank so I can’t collect them. But later we must arrange for their delivery. With regard to showing you my papers, I shall be delighted to do so if you will call at the Palacio Coralles between nine and ten tonight.”
“But the Palacio is shut up—has been for years.”
“Exactly. It is still shut up to all outward appearances but nevertheless we are staying there.”
“You must find it very uncomfortable,” Don Lluis laughed.
“Caution must be put before comfort in such an affair as this,” the Duke replied. “I am relying on you to prevent anyone, even the most trusted member of your staff, learning of the Condesa’s intention.”
“As it is purely a paper transaction there is no reason whatever that anyone should know of the transfer except ourselves.”
“Unfortunately it’s not quite as simple as that,” de Richleau said slowly. “You see, I’ve had some experience of revolutions. In Russia, for example, the property of British subjects was not respected and the same thing may occur here if the mob leaders get control. My taking over the bullion formally will not give it certain protection. Therefore I intend to remove it.”
“The Condesa said nothing.…” Don Lluis began doubtfully.
“But you have already agreed that, subject to my papers being in order, the gold is mine to do what I like with.”
“Well—yes. I suppose that is so. Do you mean to try to get it out of the country?”
“I should very much like to.”
The banker shook his head. “We have to notify the Government regarding shipments of bullion. I am quite sure they would never issue a permit for such a large consignment to leave Spain.”
“I didn’t think for one moment that they would,” de Richleau smiled. “The only alternative, therefore, is to get it out and conceal it in some safe place until the trouble’s over.”
“My dear—er—Señor da Silva. I’m afraid your suggestion is quite impractical. To start with, think of the risk of a hold-up. How can you possibly protect this vast sum? There are any number of criminal gangs in Madrid who would murder you without compunction to obtain such a haul.”
De Richleau shrugged. “If it remains in your bank half a dozen of these gangs may raid your premises during a time of disturbance. In which case you are almost certain to lose it. Whereas, once it has been moved, there’s no reason at all why anyone, criminal or otherwise, should learn of its whereabouts. If the worst happens you may be sure we shall defend it resolutely.”
“But you cannot possibly appreciate the difficulties of this thing you propose,” protested Don Lluis. “The weight of such a sum of gold bars is colossal. It runs, literally, into tons. Without help, which means letting others into the secret, you could not shift it.”
“I hope to, nevertheless. How is it made up?”
“Without my papers I cannot give you exact details but it is packed in approximately two hundred boxes. Most of them contain either four bars each of four hundred ounces or eight bars each of two hundred ounces, but in a few of the four-bar boxes which are of Australian origin the bars weigh four hundred and forty ounces apiece.”
“What, then, is the average weight of a box?”
The banker made a quick calculation on the back of a letter.
“Nearly a hundred and ten pounds—in your measure just on eight stone. You see! It would be hopeless even to attempt such a task.”
De Richleau shrugged. “It’ll be a laborious business, and take time, but we shall manage all right. The thing which worries me is how we’re to get it out of your vaults without anyone knowing what we’re up to.”
“You could remove one bar each at a time after office hours every night. But to get it all out that way would take nearly a year and I do not see how I am to prevent the night-watchman from guessing what is happening, after your first few visits. All such people belong to some Union or other these days. They spy upon one’s every movement and he would be sure to report us.”
“Can ye no send him oot, on some job, for a wee while?” Richard suggested. In his new character as Hamish McGlusky he felt it up to him to attempt the role. His accent would have horrified a Scot but it registered with the banker as some strange form of English and he replied, “On a single occasion, yes. But if I did that night after night he would be bound to smell a rat. Wait, though!—I have it!”
Both Richard and the Duke looked up expectantly, until Don Lluis went on:
“In the early days of the Coralles banking venture all business was transacted in the Palacio. It was nearly a century later that they built the present offices on what is now the Paseo de Recoletos. At that time it was the bottom of the Palacio garden and a portion of the garden still occupies the space between the two buildings.”
“Yes?” said de Richleau. “Yes?”
“The vaults of the bank lie under that piece of garden. In fact they abut on the Palacio cellars, from which there is a private entrance to them. If only we could get that open.”
“If?” Richard echoed, breaking into Irish. “Why, sure an’ we will.”
Don Lluis frowned. “No one except members of the family has ever possessed a key and I doubt if that door has been opened in this century. Moreover, the electric wires for the burglar alarms are carried across it.”
“You could shut off the electricity while we cut the wires and insert additional lengths so that they could be carried over the top of the door,” said the Duke. “As
for the door itself, if it is as old as you say, the lock will be strong rather than intricate. However, failing all else, I have no doubt that we can blow it in with dynamite.”
With a horrified gesture Don Lluis threw up his hands. “Por Dios! How can you make such a proposal? To me—who am responsible for this bank. In my keeping there are many other things besides the bullion. Millions of pesetas’ worth of securities and private safe deposits which contain fortunes in jewels.”
“Then the best service you can do your clients is to advise them to remove their possessions,” de Richleau said abruptly. “If the Bolsheviks become the masters they won’t make any proposals to you. They’ll take the stuff openly while they hold you up with a gun. Or, more probably shoot you right away as an example, to keep the rest of your staff quiet.”
“I know it,” moaned the banker, “I know it.”
“Then let me beg you to be sensible about allowing us to force this door.”
For nearly ten minutes the banker put up a most determined resistance but eventually the Duke’s inexorable logic won him over to the extent of saying:
“It would be the Condesa’s wish, I suppose.”
“Unquestionably.”
“Very well, then,” Don Lluis sighed. “But where do you propose to get your dynamite from? I have none. I do not even know what such stuff looks like.”
“Don’t worry.” The Duke’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “I’ve often found it useful before. There is some in one of those suitcases which you are holding at the bank for me; only it is coated with soap and made up to look exactly like the shaving sticks I habitually use. Incidentally I’d be greatly obliged if you would check those suitcases in the cloakroom of the Atocha Station after the siesta; bring the tickets along to the Palacio and push them through the letter-box. Then we’ll be able to collect the bags ourselves this afternoon without risking a visit to the bank or your being seen delivering them at the Palacio.”
“Just as you wish,” Don Lluis agreed with a resigned shrug. “I am truly sorry that the state of my poor country should make such subterfuges necessary. Whatever our political convictions, we Spaniards pride ourselves on our hospitality and I should have been so happy to entertain you while you are here, but it seems that is impossible.”
“I fear so,” agreed de Richleau. “But I am greatly cheered by knowing that we may count on your full co-operation in the difficulties that lie before us.”
“I dislike the whole business intensely,” the banker said with conviction. “But since it has to be I am very glad the Condesa sent someone as well fitted to undertake it as yourself.”
“Thank you,” the Duke murmured cheerfully. “We shall rely on you then. I think we might turn now and before we reach the gate we had better separate.”
By the time Richard and the Duke got back to the centre of the city it was nearly midday and the shops were closing down for the three-hour siesta. Knowing that they might be up all night the Duke suggested that they should follow the Spanish custom and, during the heat of the day, Richard was glad enough to doze on his big bed.
At four o’clock they sallied forth again to purchase a good store of the best provisions the shops had to offer and various items at an ironmonger’s. On their return they found that Don Lluis Trueba had duly pushed the cloakroom checks of their suitcases through the letter-box.
Collecting the bags meant a fatiguing journey, as de Richleau would not hear of their hiring a taxi at the station. He thought it much too risky to allow a man to drive them up, baggage and all, to the presumably empty Palace. Instead, they humped the suitcases, hopping a bus part of the way, and waiting to slip into the Coralles mansion until the narrow little street in which it was situated was empty of passers-by.
Once they were unpacking Richard considered the fag of securing the cases well worth it. After the night before it would be a joy to get into cool, silk pyjamas again and have his personal belongings round him. In addition, regardless of heavy Customs dues, the Duke had imported two hundred of his famous seven-and-a-half-inch Hoyo de Monterrey cigars which would console them for being deprived of many other things.
Don Lluis turned up at a few minutes past nine. After a careful scrutiny of the Duke’s genuine British passport and papers he pronounced himself satisfied. De Richleau then presented him with a pair of wire-cutters and asked him to go round to the bank, give the night watchman something to occupy him, switch off the electric current and, descending to the vault, sever the alarm wire which ran across its private entrance to the Palace. It was agreed that when he had completed his task he should return.
De Richleau had already located the door and, a search of the bureaux in the Palace having failed to reveal a key to fit it, decided on extreme measures.
Richard was ordered to wait in the hall so as to be on hand to let Don Lluis in directly he got back, but neither were to come downstairs until the Duke told them they might do so.
He issued these instructions with impressive firmness because he was about to undertake an appallingly dangerous operation. Sticks of dynamite are not dangerous. They can be handled or transported with little likelihood of an explosion. On the other hand, they are practically useless unless one has some more sensitive explosive with which to detonate them. Such things cannot be moved without grave risk and to carry them on one’s person, even for a short time, is to chance being blown to pieces.
The Duke had got his dynamite into Spain but he had nothing to set it off with so he meant to transform it into burglars’ ‘soup’ which would serve him even better.
First, with flour and water he made a little dough, then, leaving it on the kitchen table, he took a stick of the explosive. Cleaning it carefully of the soap with which he had camouflaged it for passing through the Customs, he placed it in a small saucepan, covered it with water and set it on Pédro’s oil stove. Adjusting the wicks he brought it very slowly to the boil. A green scum, the essence of the dynamite, consisting of nitro-glycerine, gradually formed on top. Beside him the Duke placed a tiny glass phial, laid on its side, its open end slightly tilted upward. With a hand as steady as a rock he took a kitchen skewer and gently, gently, gently inserted it into the oily scum. He had a handkerchief tied over his mouth and nose so that even his breathing would not impinge on the deadly brew, yet he held his breath as, with infinite care, he collected a pin-point of scum on the end of his skewer and transferred it to the inner lip of the glass phial.
The least jar, one awkward movement, even the dropping of a book on the floor while the saucepan was boiling would have blown de Richleau in mangled shreds all over a devastated kitchen.
Fortunately his task was now not a long one. He did not wish to blast in the door of the vault, only to shatter its lock which was old but much too strong to be destroyed by firing a pistol into it. Three times the skewer transferred an almost imperceptible portion of the scum to the little phial; then he had enough nitroglycerine for his purpose, and edged home the cork. The whole operation had taken just over an hour.
Turning out the oil-stove he made his way upstairs, his face grey and streaming with sweat, as Richard noted with concern. Don Lluis had been back twenty minutes but he was in such a state of nerves at the thought of participating in a business so diametrically opposed to the habit of years that he could not stop his hands from trembling.
“All well?” asked the Duke.
“Yes,” said the banker. “I told the watchman I had come for some important papers. There are three doors to unlock between the office and the vault and I had to lock them again when I came out. That took a little time but the rest of the business was easy. The electric current for the vault is on a separate circuit to that for the rest of the bank. I switched it off from my room before going down and I cut the wires as you directed.”
“Good. Please remain here, both of you. In no circumstances are you to come below until after you’ve heard the explosion.”
Leaving Don Lluis with Richard, de Richle
au returned to the basement. Collecting his hunk of dough from the kitchen he carried it to the door of the vault and proceeded to press it methodically into the key-hole until it would hold no more. With a pencil he then made a hole in the dough just large enough to hold the glass phial.
Going to the kitchen he nerved himself for another desperate undertaking. He had to carry the phial to the door of the vault. If his grip on it was too light he might drop it; if he pressed the fragile glass too tightly it would break; in either case he would be blown to atoms.
Taking off his shoes so that he could tread lightly and firmly he gingerly picked up the little phial. Letting his body go slack he stole down the passage and with infinite care inserted it in the hole in the dough. With a little more of the dough, which he had left handy, he stopped up the small, round opening.
With a sigh of relief he tiptoed back along the corridor to its end, about twenty feet away, and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. Replacing his handkerchief he stepped behind the angle of the wall, picked up an empty bottle he had placed there for the purpose, flung it at the door with all his force and ducked back.
Chapter VIII
Don Lluis Turns Burglar
In that confined space the blast of the explosion was so terrific that anyone with the Duke would have thought it would wake the dead—let alone bring the still-perambulating citisens of Madrid at the run to see what had happened. Actually, the vault being ten feet below the level of the garden, even the people in the nearest houses only heard the explosion as a muffled thump which passed quite unnoticed.
Up in the hall Richard and Don Lluis felt the floor quiver under them and heard the big bang distinctly. With an uneasy glance at each other they hurried down to find de Richleau calmly examining the damage.
The nitro-glycerine had done its work and a jagged hole showed where the lock had been, but the bolts and hinges of the door were so rusted that it took the conspirators over half an hour and a pint of olive oil before they could get the door open wide enough to obtain entrance to the vaults.
The Golden Spaniard Page 7