The Golden Spaniard

by Dennis Wheatley

  At eight o’clock that night old Jacinto returned to the factory with his two big sons, Carlos and Basilio, and their two friends Esteban and Manuel. The Duke knew that he was taking a great risk in divulging his secret to so many people but no other course was open to him and he had carefully assessed the possibility of betrayal. Cupidity could be ruled out as they could not carry off any large quantity of the gold and men of their type would have been faced with almost insurmountable difficulties if they had attempted to convert even a small portion of it into money. Further, he was prepared to pay them a month’s wages for every night’s work they put in, with the promise that when the job was completed they should each receive a bonus which would keep them free from want for the rest of their lives. The only real danger was that one of them might go over to the Reds or get drunk and give something away in his cups. The safeguards against such possibilities were their strong Catholicism and the iron discipline under which de Richleau meant to put them.

  He assembled them in the office and first asked them to take an oath of irrevocable secrecy upon the crucifix. An atheist might have shrugged contemptuously at the solemn rigmarole the Duke made each of them repeat after him but to these Spanish Catholics Hell’s flames were very real indeed and each of them felt they were pledging their immortal souls as they took the oath.

  De Richleau then explained to the four younger men the work he wanted them to do, the immense importance of it to the cause they had pledged themselves to die for, and the material reward for their help which he would gladly give them.

  They proved not only willing but eager as this was clearly a chance to serve the best interests of their country according to their beliefs and it promised each of them a small fortune in addition.

  The Duke went on to say that to avoid comment being aroused in the town by their indulging in unusual expenditure, he meant to pay their month’s salary for each night’s work to Jacinto every morning, to be held in trust for them until the business was completed. Also that they must abide by the rules he intended to lay down for them for their waking and sleeping so that they would be able to support their onerous nights of labour in addition to their usual day’s work at the factory. Jacinto would see to it that their daily shifts were made as light as possible during the secret operations. Carlos, who had been appointed night-watchman, and would therefore be able to sleep during the day, was to undertake the heaviest work at night—that of carrying the gold bars to the furnace. Later in the proceedings Basilio would appear to sprain his ankle so that he could get several days off from work. When he was better Esteban and Manuel would go down with ’flu with the same object. They must not altogether neglect the ordinary occupations of their leisure but no one of them must ever go to a wine shop to drink alone; they must go in couples so that they would act as guards upon each other’s tongues. Finally, verbal instructions would be issued from day to day as to how each of them was to spend his next twenty-four hours and the routes by which they would come and go from the factory for the secret shifts.

  In the Second Balkan War de Richleau had been Chief of Staff to a Turkish Army Corps and after the World War he had commanded a division of White Russians against the Bolsheviks in the Ukraine, so he knew all about planning a campaign in detail as well as on broad lines. Jacinto had seen to it that the smelting plant was cleared before the works closed down and by nine o’clock they made a start on ‘camouflaging’ the gold.

  On the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights the work proceeded entirely to schedule and good progress was made. The conspirators had an inestimable advantage in that Jacinto virtually controlled the factory. Coello and his three clerks were concerned solely with the business end and so rarely left the office.

  The night-work was arduous but none of them spared themselves and the Duke’s arrangements for periods of sleep excluded any likelihood of their breaking down under the strain. He soon found that Richard, who was set to repainting the articles after they had been dealt with, could not possibly keep up with the output alone, so he ceased carrying stacks of kitchen utensils, to help him. Even then they lagged behind the brawny Spanish workers so, as they were free to sleep any time they wished during the hours when normal work was proceeding, they decided to put in the three hours of the siesta each day painting pots and pans as well. Jacinto locked them into one of the sheds soon after the hands had knocked off and let them out again just before the men came back.

  It was a dreary business working stripped to the waist in the semi-darkness of a corrugated-iron shed while the midday sun fairly sizzled down on its roof, but somehow they stuck it and their reward each morning was to see a fresh pile of little sawdust-lined boxes from which the gold contents had entirely disappeared.

  They were too engrossed in their work to worry much about what was going on in Madrid, which seemed a million miles away from their quiet backwater, but they heard rumours of increased tension in the capital. It seemed that a great number of officers had been summoned from their regiments to participate in some special conference and the sight of so many of them walking about the streets had given rise to all sorts of wild stories. The great majority of the citisens still knew nothing of the army plot or the Red counter-plot to thwart it, but this display of military force was rousing their apprehension. At Calvo Sotelo’s funeral there had been further shooting and the police were now making no attempt to cope with demonstrations by the Reds.

  After their labours with the paint-pots during the siesta hours on the Saturday de Richleau said to Richard, “I’ve arranged with Jacinto for his lads to put in two special shifts during the week-end but I think we ought to take a trip to Madrid.”

  “It would be a grand change,” sighed Richard. “But oughtn’t we to stick it here? The more hours we put in while the going’s good the sooner we’ll be done.”

  “I was thinking of Pédro,” said the Duke. “It’ll be a week on Monday since we barricaded him into that bathroom and we can’t let the poor fellow starve. As we’re only painting the goods now, Jacinto and the others won’t make any less headway on account of our absence. We’ll have to sleep in the Palacio, of course, but we can get back here by tomorrow night.”

  By six o’clock they were in Madrid and the change of atmosphere which had taken place was at once perceptible. There were many more loungers in the streets, yet the city was ominously silent. Everyone was waiting for something to happen but no one seemed to know quite what. De Richleau questioned several people but they could only shake their heads and mutter that the Cabinet had met for a special session. It was thought that the Government was about to fall.

  Having bought a fresh stock of provisions they let themselves into the Coralles mansion and went upstairs. The empty Palacio still seemed to be haunted with the ghosts of its past glories and gave them the same eerie feeling as they had had on their first arrival.

  The barricade of furniture outside the bathroom was still in position. When they had removed it they found Pédro stretched out semi-nude on the floor inside. The heat of the place was like a furnace from its having been shut up for five days during the torrid July heats. The hot room of a Turkish bath could hardly have been worse and they noticed that the unfortunate caretaker had lost considerably in weight.

  He implored them to let him out and promised by the Virgin and all the Saints not to breathe a word about them if they would, but de Richleau had to steel his heart against this pathetic appeal. To cheer the poor fellow up a little he presented him with a thousand pesetas in crinkly notes, but having brought him up a fresh supply of wine they locked him in again and re-barricaded the door.

  In the dirty, untidy salon, which had been their living-room for a week, they made a scratch meal on some of the food they had brought with them. When they had finished the Duke looked across at Richard.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  Richard stretched. “No more than I have been since we started this fantastic racket. I shall dream I’m heaving gold bars about or pa
inting saucepans for the rest of my life, I think. Still, I’ve had an easier time this week than I did last. Why d’you ask?”

  The Duke’s grey eyes glittered. “Because I’ve an idea the party’s on. History may be in the making here in Madrid tonight. How about going out into the streets for an hour or two instead of going to bed?”

  “I’m game,” Richard grinned, standing up, and a quarter of an hour later they left the Palace.

  It was just after nine o’clock. The streets were still crowded and the throngs showed no signs of dispersing to go home to dinner. The cafés were doing a roaring trade. As is the custom in Spain each displayed beside its sign the words ‘Tertulia so-and-so’ meaning that it was the meeting place of an informal club—each political, of course—where the Spaniards might indulge their natural passion of declaiming the iniquities of every other party but their own.

  In the Prado dense crowds, which overflowed the pavement into the broad, tree-lined street, were slowly circulating. Not a single policeman was to be seen anywhere. The moving masses had an unusual black density about them. Soon de Richleau realised the reason; although it was Saturday night no soldiers with an evening off were mingling as usual with the people.

  Having walked for some time they were passing a crowded café near the Puerta del Sol when a man and woman got up from an outside table. The Duke jumped it before anyone else had a chance to do so. He was soon in conversation with his neighbours and translating scraps of information for Richard’s benefit. “The Cabinet is still sitting. Señor Casares Quiroga, the Prime Minister, is said to be re-forming the Government. It is hoped that Azaña, the old Leader of the Left who is the strong man of Spain, will take power into his own hands but ever since he became President a few months ago he’s adhered strictly to the Constitution.”

  “What has caused the crisis?” Richard asked.

  “The sort of thing I expected,” muttered the Duke. “Rumour has it that on Thursday General Francisco Franco abandoned his command in the Canaries and flew to Morocco. Yesterday several regiments revolted there. That’s why the troops have all been confined to barracks in Madrid.”

  A bearded man near by was hammering the marble-topped table at which he sat. The Duke politely joined issue with him. A whole circle of people were soon backing one or the other of them. Time drifted on. The waiters in their white aprons bustled about serving round after round of drinks. By eleven o’clock the crowds showed no signs of thinning but were thicker than ever in the streets.

  A new rumour spread from mouth to mouth. There was fighting in Cordoba. The young Fascist leader, Primo de Rivera, had escaped from prison and was leading an insurrection there. The Cabinet was still sitting. They had issued a statement condemning the Moroccan revolt and adding that “nobody, absolutely nobody” in Spain itself “had taken part in this absurd scheme”.

  In spite of this, wild stories which had no traceable origin began to circulate. The black-bearded man was full of ‘things he had heard’ earlier that evening. The veteran General Cabanellas had made a Pronunciamiento in the North and the energetic General Mola had joined him. The streets of Seville had been running with blood all day. The versatile Queipo de Llano was commanding there. General Goded, the Military Governor of the Balearic Isles, had declared for the Insurgents. Juan March, the banker who had made a fortune out of the tobacco monopoly, was behind him and had promised to finance the revolt. General Franco had actually landed with his Moors that morning and taken Algeciras.

  The occupants of the café passed on these alarming tidings to each other with bated breath. This was not just one more scare, it was a genuine crisis. These Generals were people whose names really counted. Almost to a man they had been anti-Monarchist and had actively participated in the bringing-in of the Republic five years before. Now they were making Pronunciamientos right and left and calling on their troops to support them in an effort to re-establish National and Catholic Spain.

  Soon after midnight there was a brief scrimmage on the pavement. The crowd was pushed to one side and a band of armed men suddenly appeared. They had little in common except that they all wore automatics strapped to their waists. Many of them were unshaven and dressed in baggy, shapeless clothes.

  Their leader was a small, dark man. He issued a sharp order. His companions spread out along the frontage of the café shouldering back the crowd and at the same time preventing anyone from leaving it.

  “Your papers, Comrades,” he said quite civilly to the people who were sitting at the table nearest him. They all produced their Cedulas Personales and having glanced swiftly at them he passed on. Table by table he made a methodical examination of the documents produced. Richard handed over his British passport and the Duke that of Hypolite Dubois. The man looked at them and gave them back remarking abruptly, “You’d better get back to your hotel. We don’t want foreigners mixed up in this.”

  As they stood up he spoke to the bearded man; who protested that he had left his papers at home. At a sign from their leader two members of the armed patrol jumped forward and seizing the indignant man, emptied his pockets on to the table. The leader shuffled quickly through them and gave a jerk of his head. The rumour-merchant was dragged outside and the patrol straggled off with him shouting in their midst.

  “Poor devil,” sighed de Richleau as he and Richard walked away. “He was evidently the chap they were looking for. Planted there most probably as an agent-provocateur to spread those rumours and influence the crowd. Now they’ve got him it’s unlikely he’ll see tomorrow’s sun.”

  “D’you think there was any truth in those yarns of his?”

  “Oh, yes. Although he was apparently only retailing gossip the chances are he was giving us accurate information obtained from some secret headquarters. The Generals are making their bid for power now. I haven’t a doubt of that. The thing that worries me is: what the devil has happened to Fanjul?”

  “You mean the General Commanding here?”

  “Yes. As far as one can see he’s sitting calmly in the Montana Barracks—just letting the Reds get away with it.”

  “He may be having trouble with his men.”

  “My dear boy, they can’t all be mutinous.” De Richleau spoke with sharp exasperation. “If I had even half a battalion of loyal officers and N.C.O.s behind me now, while there’s still no organised resistance worth talking about, I’d storm the Telegraph Building and paralyse half the communications in Spain. He must know what’s going on. By this time he ought to have arrested the members of the muddle-headed Government and be busy establishing machine-gun nests on the tops of corner buildings so that they could command the principal streets. Tomorrow it’ll be too late. While he’s shilly-shallying somewhere in those barracks the Reds are gaining control of the capital. God alone knows what his criminal weakness may cost later in blood and death.”

  “I suppose this is just the sort of mess-up Lucretia-José feared?”

  “Yes, bless her! What a man that girl would have made, Richard. If she’d been in command here the whole thing would have been over by now and the three of us would be lunching tomorrow at the … Hello! What’s that?”

  The sound of shots came from a near-by street but they ceased abruptly. “Not Fanjul, anyhow,” said Richard.

  “No, just some poor chap who’s been shot down trying to escape from these gangs of toughs.”

  The cafés were emptying like magic but the pavements were still thick with people; in the roadway bands of armed Marxists were now passing every few moments, many of them rattling by in lorries. Here and there they had flung a cordon across the street and were demanding to see everybody’s papers before they would let them through. Twice between the Puerta del Sol and the Café de Sevilla the Duke and Richard had to produce their passports.

  The patrols were not unfriendly. They were mostly Partido Comunista well organised by leaders who knew just what they were about. Now and then a man was pulled out of the crowd and hustled down a side turning to a waiting
van. All cars were being stopped and searched.

  No one attempted to contest the arbitrarily assumed authority of the patrols. Police, soldiers, Guardias Civiles, even the Guardias de Asalto which had been specially formed since the coming of the Republic to counteract the influence of the old Monarchist Guardia Civile, had all disappeared leaving the population of the city entirely at the mercy of the Marxists.

  The crowd was now thinning rapidly. Silent and scared the people were making for their homes. To avoid constant questioning the Duke and Richard slipped down a side street and entered the maze of narrow turnings off the Calle Jardines and the Calle de la Aduana, the red light district of Madrid. A crowd of roughs had broken into one of the cafés and a bottle fight was in progress. The sound of smashing glass mingled with the shrill screams of the women.

  A little farther on a burly ruffian was dragging a girl into a dark alleyway. Catching sight of the two friends she began to yell, “Socorro! Socorro, Senores!” and Richard made to dart forward to her help.

  Next moment de Richleau’s hand closed on his arm in a grip of steel. “Steady on, man,” he muttered. “There’ll be plenty of that in the next few days but we’ve got to shut our eyes to it. Our own job comes first. It’s going to be hard for us but no matter what horrors we may see it’s absolutely imperative that we shouldn’t allow ourselves to become embroiled.”

  A few minutes later they entered a wider thoroughfare which was half filled with a stationary crowd all staring in one direction. Farther along a lurid glare lit the scene. A gang of hooligans had set a church on fire and were dancing in front of it.

  “We’d better turn back,” Richard suggested.

  “Yes. No sense in trying to push our way through this crush.” As the Duke spoke the horn of a motor sounded. A large car had entered the street and was coming slowly down it towards the crowd.

  “Darned fool,” commented Richard. “If that driver had any sense he’d stop, turn round and get his boss home some other way.”