The Golden Spaniard

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Duke had been somewhat apprehensive that the Palacio Coralles might have been broken into during the disturbances but the great mansion was as dark, gloomy and forbidding as ever when they reached it. Shuttered and grimy as it was most people would have taken it for an empty building and there were many more obvious places to plunder in Madrid.

  Having let themselves in they stood in the lofty hall for a moment; awed as they had been when they first arrived by the brooding silence that seemed to envelop them like a living thing. The millions of atoms in the little clouds of dust which were raised by their footsteps as they made their way up the grand staircase shimmered in the light of their torches. In the great salon everything was just as they had left it. The ghostly rows of covered chairs stood round the walls and except for one corner of the big room which they had cleaned out during their stay there was dust, dust, dust over everything.

  De Richleau sent Richard up to the fourth floor to find out if the pile of furniture outside Pédro’s door was still in position while he went down to the cellars himself to choose something specially delectable. When they met again Richard reported that Pédro was snoring in his prison.

  “Good. We’ll attend to him when we’ve fed,” the Duke nodded. “And later we’ll boil up some kettles of water downstairs so that we can enjoy the luxury of a bath. Look what I’ve discovered.” With loving care he was removing the dust from the tops of two bottles of Schloss Johannisberger Auslese, Prince Metternich Estate, Gold Seal 1904.

  Richard knew the wine and smiled. “It’s years since I’ve ever seen it listed and then it was six pound a bottle. Strange that the finest hocks fetch so much more than the finest clarets, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. The price of every luxury is merely a question of supply and demand. It simply proves there are more rich people in the world who would rather drink this than Château Ausone, and I’m one of them.”

  The food they had brought with them was the very antithesis in rarity to that dark-golden nectar; yet given all the money and opportunity in the world it would have been hard to find anything with which that magnificent wine would taste better than the mild cheese and dry biscuits spread before them.

  By the light of a single oil lamp they settled down to enjoy one of those strange, unpremeditated meals that linger in the memory long after the years in which they were eaten have been forgotten.

  In the shadows which encroached upon them from the bottom of the long chamber it was easy to imagine the shades of dead Cordoba y Coralles gathered watching these strangers from another land who had invaded this haunt of ancient glories; yet welcoming them with ghostly bows and soundless courtesies as men of their own kind and mettle for whom they were proud to do the honours of their house.

  One long-necked bottle was empty, the light from the lamp glinted upon the red glass of the other which was no more than half full, when de Richleau suddenly went dead still, his glass raised half-way to his mouth.

  Richard paused in the middle of a sentence and the eyes of both focused with one accord upon the tall, half-open door. It had only been a very little noise but both had caught it; something had creaked down in the hall.

  Very, very gently the Duke set down his glass while Richard rose slowly to his feet. They paused, stock-still again, listening intently. A new noise came; a faint, faint shuffle, as though somebody was moving down below.

  Richard leaned forward towards the lamp; his fingers gripped the little wheel which controlled its wick. De Richleau drew his gun. As their eyes met he nodded. Richard gave a swift turn to the wheel, a sharp puff down the lamp chimney, and the light went out.

  For the third time a sound full of menace reached them; a stealthy, hesitant tread.

  The room was now in pitch darkness. With catlike steps the Duke tiptoed across the parquet until he was ensconced behind the angle of the partly open door. Richard sank down on his knees, shielding himself behind the heavy arm-chair on which he had been sitting, and slipped back the safety-catch on his automatic.

  Tense and expectant they crouched there, striving to control their breathing. They could hear their hearts pounding in their chests but they could hear another sound as well; the pad, pad, pad of regular footfalls. Somebody was coming up the stairs.

  Chapter XVI

  When Greek Meets Greek

  The brains of both were racing at a furious speed. Had they forgotten to lock the street door behind them? If so, had some passer-by found it ajar and slipped in to have a look round out of curiosity? Had a police spy seen them enter the house, and, having picked the lock, come in to find out what they were doing there? Or, had they fallen into a trap? Perhaps Pédro’s friends had reported his lengthy disappearance and the mysterious comings and goings of the two strangers who had taken his place. It hardly seemed likely that the Seguridad would concern themselves with such a minor matter when all their energies were required in the struggle to suppress that hydra-headed monster now loose—the lawless element of the city. Perhaps a watch had been kept on the Palacio for other reasons. They had no idea what had happened to Don Lluis Trueba. It was possible that he had been forced to talk.

  With their fingers on the triggers of their guns they crouched there in the darkness ready at any second to hold up anyone who might enter the room.

  The footsteps were clearer now as they mounted the last stairs. They did not seem stealthy any longer but deliberate and purposeful. The beam of a torch flickered under the closed half of the door and across the landing outside. The footsteps ceased and a voice rang out shattering the eerie silence.

  “Put up your guns, you two, and show a light. We know you’re there. It’s Rex and Simon.”

  “Damn you!” exclaimed Richard with mingled anger and relief. “You great big boob, I might have shot you in another second.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Rex laughed, his huge shadow, now lit from behind by Simon’s torch, bulking in the doorway. “I know the old firm a sight too well to go sticking my nose in here without giving the huge hello! Where’s the Big White Chief?”

  De Richleau stepped out from behind the door. “How’s flying, Rex?” he asked amiably. “Have you found your nerve again?”

  “Oh, shucks, I never was the goods at lying and I just hated to have to tell you that one. But what else could I do without letting Simon down? He knew you’d get all het up if you tumbled to it we were going to give the Socialists a hand in Spain.”

  “Let’s forget it,” said the Duke as Richard relit the lamp. “I’m sure you’d have misled Simon in the same way if I had been lucky enough to rope you in first. Good evening, Simon; you’re looking very glum.”

  Simon was still standing unsmiling by the door. “Got reason to be,” he said abruptly.

  “Why? Have you discovered that your ‘heroic’ mobsmen prefer looting to joining up?”

  “Ner. We’ve got more volunteers than we can handle at the moment. I was thinking of the last time we met.”

  “When you entertained us so kindly, eh? Well, we shall be delighted to do the same for you whenever the occasion arises. No doubt it will when the Nationalist forces reach Madrid.”

  “It’s your still being here—makes me so sick,” Simon shot out with sudden anger.

  De Richleau raised his slanting, devil’s eyebrows. “But, my dear fellow, we gave you no undertaking we’d leave Madrid. Our only promise was that we would allow your guards to see us on to a train without endeavouring to escape. The fact that they failed to do so was no fault of ours.”

  “You tricked me!” Simon flared. “At the very time I was going to all sorts of trouble to get you out of it for your own protection you were in touch with the Fascists. You never meant to leave Madrid and you planned that hold-up in which four of our men were killed.’”

  “That’s not true,” Richard cut in. “We had no idea at all that the Fascists meant to attack the van.”

  “I’m amazed it could even have occurred to you that we did,” de Richleau added
sharply. “You should know us better, Simon. The whole affair was arranged by people who knew we were at the hotel—presumably as prisoners—and they naturally took steps to secure our liberty. But we knew nothing of their intentions and we didn’t fire a shot at any of your men.”

  “Basis of our bargain was that you were on parole till you got on the train,” Simon said sulkily.

  Richard shrugged. “Don’t be a fool, man! Would you have had us stand there in the street until we were mown down by machine-guns?”

  “Ner—still. How about Don Palacio and the girl? You can’t say you played fair there. Jollying me into wangling safe conducts for two valuable hostages and then letting them join the Rebels.”

  “My dear fellow, do give us credit for some sense of decency,” the Duke broke out. “Doña Favorita has been interned in one of the Legations for the past week. She’s safe there but can do you no harm. As for Don Palacio, I made him give me his personal undertaking that he would not lift a hand in the Civil War except in his own defence. I couldn’t send him out of Madrid but in fairness to you I wouldn’t allow him to join a fighting unit. He’s helping to look after the wounded in some secret depot. Now are you satisfied?”

  “Sorry. Did you an injustice about that,” Simon admitted, but he did not smile.

  “All right. May we know to what we owe this unexpected visit?”

  “Certainly.… Now I’ll tell you. I’ve Spanish relatives on my mother’s side. Commercial people who had a good bit to do with investing the Socialist funds. They asked me to act for them in England, and when I found out that Spain was threatened with a Nazi putsch my interest naturally went a bit deeper than just money. Outside Catalonia, Spain’s business men aren’t very bright—not those who could be trusted—anyhow. So I was invited out here as a financial adviser.”

  “To whom?” asked the Duke. “The Government?”

  “Ner. The Finance Council which runs the Party Funds of the Popular Front. Still, it’s much the same thing now. Government’s down the drain for all practical purposes—under the thumb of Largo Caballero—but. ‘I’m working in close collaboration with what’s left of the Ministry of Finance. They’re—er—very sensible people.”

  “Which being interpreted out of the ancient Hebrew means they’re doing what you tell them,” laughed Richard.

  Simon permitted himself a watery smile. “More or less. Anyway, unofficially I’m in charge of the War Chest. Got to find funds for buying planes and guns and things. It occurred to me there must be a lot of stuff in the banks and safe deposits; negotiable securities, gold and so on, lodged for safe keeping by private people. We’re not pinching it provided its owners declare it but they’ve got to do that under a new law that’s been passed.”

  “So that you can pinch it later on,” the Duke remarked.

  “Not necessarily. It’s to provide me with some idea of the real resources of the capital and to prevent stuff being withdrawn without our knowledge.”

  “I see, and what happens if people don’t declare any such liquid assets—absent owners and so on?”

  “Then we confiscate. Those who aren’t with us are against us. If they’re shirking their responsibilities abroad or fighting in the ranks of the Rebels why should we respect their property? It’s to be used for the defence of the Democratic Government. Still, neither case applies to you and I hope you’re going to be sensible.”

  “My dear fellow, last week’s excitement must have proved too much for your able brain. I have no assets lodged in any Madrid bank or safe-deposit. Whatever should have led you to suppose I had?”

  “Visit I paid the other day to the Banco Coralles,” said Simon with a stony stare.

  “Indeed! And what has that to do with the matter, pray?”

  “Anything removed since the first of July is still liable to confiscation unless it is declared at once. We know there was a large store of bullion there at the beginning of the month, but it’s gone.”

  “Dear me!” the Duke smiled openly and derisively. “How very unfortunate for you.”

  “Ner,” said Simon, “not really. It’s much too heavy to have been shifted far and I’m determined to trace it.”

  “Good luck to you, my dear ‘Lieutenant Schwab’!”

  “We found the broken door of the vault and it’s quite clear the stuff was brought through into the cellars here.”

  “So that’s the way you got in,” murmured Richard.

  Simon nodded. “If I’d ordered the police to break in the front door you might have started shooting through it; so we thought it best to make our call by way of the bank and the vault.”

  “But how did you know we were here?”

  “On my first visit I found two bedrooms had been occupied on the next floor and a fine array of empties where some people had camped here. Occurred to me they might be back some time so I had the place watched. The police telephoned me directly they saw you enter the house tonight and Rex and I came along as soon as we could.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you knew it was us.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Cigar butts, lots of them and mostly three inches long. Fine stuff and no bands. No one leaves butts that length unless they smoke very big cigars. Besides, I’ve smoked too many of those special Hoyos not to know their butts on sight. I’m pretty well up in your favourite vintages too and a look at the empties served as a check-up.”

  “Marvellous!” said the Duke sarcastically. “And now I suppose you think you’re hot on the trail of this missing treasure?”

  “Yes. It’s not in the cellars and there’s no lift in the Palace so even with the bank staff to help you it would have taken weeks to lug it up to the attics. But it was you who removed it and you’re going to tell me where you’ve got it.”

  “My dear boy, your deductions are admirable, positively breath-taking, up to a point. Richard and I certainly made this place our headquarters for several days and as the gold isn’t here it must be somewhere else. But why in the world should you associate me with its removal?”

  Simon drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket and laid them on the table. “Found these when I was going through the bank manager’s private safe,” he said quietly. “They’re Don Lluis Trueba’s receipts for the bullion, duly signed in your own name, and I—er—happen to know your signature well enough to be certain they’re genuine.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” de Richleau suddenly let out a roar of laughter and collapsed upon the sofa. “One thing I’d never thought of and a direct trail to myself. You win, Simon. It was Richard and I who lifted the Coralles millions.”

  Simon could not help smiling. “I was lucky,” he confessed. “Those receipts wouldn’t have meant much to anyone who didn’t know you; and the Hoyos and the empties wouldn’t have meant anything at all. It was a fair bet you’d come back some time, since you were still in Madrid, if only to have another go at the cellar.”

  “Well,” said Richard, “now you’ve produced your rabbit out of the hat, and we’ve all clapped, how about getting up a few more bottles? Rex looks as if he could do with a drink.”

  “Sure thing!” Rex agreed. “This is one hell of a climate for maintaining an unquenchable thirst.”

  “Ner,” Simon intervened. “Business first. I want to know where that gold is.”

  Richard shrugged. “Surely you don’t expect us to tell you?”

  “Look here! I’m busy. Tell me where it is and I’ll count that a voluntary declaration. If you put me to the trouble of finding the stuff for myself I’ll confiscate it.”

  “If it’s once listed, what’s to prevent the Government making a new law by which they confiscate a part or all of it, anyway?” inquired the Duke.

  “Nothing,” said Simon. “You’ll have to chance that.”

  “Then we thank you very kindly for the offer but we’re not prepared to play.”

  “Now listen! If this were a small private fortune, I’d let it slide. But the sum involved is so enormous that
I’ve got to locate it.’

  “My dear chap, do be sensible,” de Richleau shrugged. “You know now that Richard and I came out here to prevent the Coralles millions falling into the hands of the Government. Is it likely that having succeeded in removing them from the bank we should tell you where we’ve cached them?”

  “I can make things damned uncomfortable for you if you don’t.”

  The Duke stood up. “Really, Simon,” he snapped, “your recent associations have improved neither your understanding nor your manners. First you display softening of the brain by asking me to betray a trust and now you have the impertinence to threaten me.”

  “I make no threats I’m not prepared to carry out.”

  “Then you should be ashamed of yourself. Even if we are on opposite sides of the fence in this nation-wide dispute surely there’s enough to occupy all of us without our tilting at each other.”

  “Perhaps.” Simon shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Don’t think I’m enjoying this. I hate it. But it just happens we’ve come into collision over this wretched gold. It’s apparently your job to secure it for the Rebels and it’s mine to prevent it reaching them.”

  “Your wits against mine, eh?”

  “That’s it. And I’ve got the whip hand at the moment.”

  “I fail to see that since I have the gold and you haven’t.”

  “True. But I’ve got you, and unless you tell me where it is you’re going to prison.”

  “What! ! !”

  “Um.” Simon hurried on, his eyes flickering wildly. “This whole block is surrounded by my men. Either you talk or we’ll see if a spell in the Model Prison makes you more reasonable.”

  “But you can’t mean that,” Richard protested. “It’s unthinkable.”