Such Power is Dangerous

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Miss Bamborough,’ Uncle Andy flourished his panama once more, ‘I want you to meet Mr. Carlo Green, whose name I reckon you’ll know as well as your own, and Mr. Harry Honeydew—the big noise of Reno Films Ltd., and a star in his own right into the bargain. Boys—Miss Bamborough’s signed up with Hugo Schultzer, and she’s sure going to make a picture that’ll be good to see.’

  Avril looked at Carlo Green with interest. It was difficult to imagine that this six-foot-three of quiet, charming gentleman could once have been the down-and-out labourer that D. Y. Gritter had found inciting his brother workmen to strike for an extra dollar a day. In Handsome Harry she was not interested—she knew his name but only vaguely, though he seemed to know all about her, and with a smile which he firmly believed to be irresistible, began at once to talk to her of London and the people he had met there.

  ‘Carlo, my boy—I want two words with you.’ Uncle Andy took the famous star by the arm. ‘See yer later, Miss Bamborough.’

  ‘Have you see the rock garden, Miss Bamborough?’ Handsome Harry enquired with a smile. Avril shook her head. ‘Then you certainly should—I’ll take you right along.’

  The rock garden proved to be well worth seeing. It was stocked with every kind of cactus, from prickly giants to tiny midgets, and a thousand varieties of little flowering plants. The paths twisted in and out between huge boulders, and here and there rustic bridges spanned the cool trickle of a waterfall.

  In all the shady corners comfortable seats were set, the occupants being sheltered from view except by the casual passerby.

  Many of the nooks were already taken, but Handsome Harry found a vacant place and they sat down.

  He stretched out his long legs, and leant an arm along the back of Avril’s chair, an arrangement that she did not care about, but the gesture was so natural that she did not wish to look foolish by asking him to move it.

  Handsome Harry proved a friendly, good-natured person, but a bore. He sat there with his hat tilted over his eyes and talked continuously of motion pictures—their past, their present, and their future. Avril would not have minded that, but unfortunately, in his view, motion pictures and the activities of Handsome Harry were synonymous. It seemed that he had been in Hollywood since the early days. Somewhere in the dark ages of 1920, when Avril had been a little girl at school, he had been a star. He was still a star—but Avril felt certain that he would have passed from public favour long ago, had it not been that he held a controlling interest in Reno Films; and the company had to allow him to direct his own pictures whether they liked it or not.

  His mentality had not advanced since the days when his films were world famous. Those were the days before the coming of the German influence, and the talkies—when real talent was scarce on the screen, and Hollywood still a small town with dusty back lots on its main boulevard.

  Avril let him run on but ceased to listen. Snatches of conversation came to her from the seat just round the corner—it was her own name that caught her ear.

  ‘Bamborough? Oh, yes. I know John Bamborough well—his second boy was in Pop when I was at Eton.’

  The voice was quiet and lazy—it was an English voice, and despite its laziness there was something clipped about the words. It had that curious intonation that has been substituted by modern youth for the old Oxford drawl. Avril wondered vaguely who the man could be.

  The voice went on, ‘Oh, when the Combine starts to function, they’ll give her a contract—she’s pretty certain of a job.’

  ‘An’ you reckon it’s a certainty that Hinckman’ll put this Combine over?’ an American voice enquired.

  ‘Yes, rather, I’d put my last writ on it!’

  ‘They’ll need big money—we’re all half broke in this darn town.’

  ‘That end is all right—I’ve known the chap whose financing it for years—Gavin Fortescue—he’s worth millions.’

  ‘Would that be Lord Fortescue?’

  ‘Yes, Dorrington’s brother—Gavin would have been the Duke if he’d been born two hours earlier. They were twins, you know—rotten luck for him—people say he tried to do his brother in when he was about ten, anyhow, his jealousy turned his brain a bit—he’s a queer eccentric bird.’

  ‘Well, now—you don’t say! And are you acquainted with the Duke?’

  ‘I’ve stayed at Wenchworth now and again—lovely place, it had three hundred and sixty-five windows—one for every day in the year … at least—no, that’s Blenheim—I’m confusing the two. When you come over to England I must take you down, they’re both worth seeing if you like that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that, Mr. Sheringham.’

  ‘Oh, not a bit—I can easily arrange it by dropping a line to Uncle Bill.’

  ‘And this Lord Fortescue—he really means to see Hinckman through?’

  ‘Yes, you needn’t worry about that.’

  ‘What d’you figure the Combine’ll be floated for?’

  ‘It isn’t settled yet—I favour a hundred million—pounds, not dollars—I don’t see how we can do with less.’

  ‘That’s a pretty tidy sum, but I guess you’re right. When’ll the flotation take place?’

  ‘All depends. Once we’ve got the interests we want secured, we shall go ahead. Of course, that’s where people like yourself and Hinckman come in, everybody who’s in on the ground floor of a thing like this is certain to make a packet, owners, producers, and stars as well. Those who are stupid enough to get left will find themselves out of a job. The biggest star would be chicken food in a year if their publicity was cut off—they’ll have to come over.’

  ‘That’s mighty true, Mr. Sheringham—and it’s to be a world concern, you say?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pretty well in with most of the English crowd; in fact, I’ve got the biggest concern more or less in my pocket already—so there won’t be any serious opposition there.’

  Avril lost the remainder of their interesting conversation, for Handsome Harry had taken her absorption in her unseen neighbours as something more flattering to himself, and now, dropping his hand on to her arm, he suddenly drew her towards him.

  With a quick jerk she wriggled free—her violet eyes grew hard as she withdrew her head from the proximity of his—he seemed surprised, and more than a little offended.

  ‘Say, now, what’s the trouble, little girl?’ he asked in a pained voice. ‘You sure don’t object to a little friendly kiss—you won’t go far in Hollywood if you do.’

  Avril lifted her well-marked brows a fraction, she smiled, but it was a chilly smile. ‘Indeed—how interesting!’ she said gravely. ‘Do you know, I adore kissing—but only with good-looking men!’

  For a moment Handsome Harry was taken aback by this attack on his world-famous features—he could think of no adequate retort—then he laughed good-naturedly and stood up. ‘Say, you’re a great kid, Miss Bamborough—I reckon you’ll go a long way, but if that’s your view I guess we’d better get back to the party.’

  She forgave him instantly, he would have been a nice creature, she thought, if it had not been for his incredible vanity. Of course, he had not taken her remark seriously—nothing could penetrate his armour of conceit. They strolled back to the lawns, Handsome quite cheerfully resuming his monologue upon motion pictures as produced, directed and acted by Harry Honeydew.

  Avril looked about for Hugo Schultzer, but could not see him—crowds more people had arrived and it seemed a hopeless task to try and find him in that slowly-moving throng.

  ‘Hello, Angie!’ Handsome had halted before a small, dark man with olive skin and flashing black eyes. ‘What are you doin’ in this crush? Is the big boy featurin’ in the party?’

  ‘Sure, Mistake Honeydew, dat guy Mick looka after him, while I tak-a-walk around.’

  ‘Miss Bamborough—meet Mr. Donelli. Miss Bamborough has a rooted objection to kissing any but a handsome man, Angie! I guess you’d better see what you can do to cut me out while I go hit up the drinks!’


  With this parting thrust he nodded amiably to Avril and turned away. ‘Where did you leave Hinckman, Angie?’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘Over dare—he talka to Lula Valdez.’ Angelo pointed the couple out and Handsome Harry walked away.

  Avril looked quickly over to where the tall, robust Hinckman stood with the little Mexican star. So that was the great chief of the Trans-Continental Electric Corporation. He was a big man even among this gathering of big men, and she thought he looked it. Angelo drew her away. ‘We goa to see der rock garden, yes?—verry pretti there,’ and for the second time that afternoon Avril allowed herself to be led into the twisting maze of rock-walled paths, with their sudden vistas of lily pools and miniature cascades.

  Angelo found an even more secluded corner. She did not know if he was a star or not, and fearing to offend him by apparent ignorance, enquired what film he was making now.

  He waved a beringed hand, and shook his glossy head. ‘I no playa da filma—it ees too much work—not enough dolla, unless you coma big star.’

  Avril looked at the little man with an amused smile, and asked him what he did do.

  ‘I da boss gunman in Mistaire Hinckman’s racket,’ he said proudly. ‘I—Angelo Donelli—da besta shot in California.’

  Avril was mildly horrified, but vastly intrigued. ‘Do you really kill people?’ she enquired.

  He laughed. ‘In Chicago I see plenty trouble—that’s why I comma here, I wanta da quiet life—I just bodyguard for Mistaire Hinckman—case other guys geta fresh. Mistaire Hinckman very rich—but da gangs no trouble him while Angelo around!’

  After that Angelo told her a number of surprising things about himself. Not only was he the finest shot in California, but he was certainly the most handsome man—the most sought after by the women in Hollywood—from the stars to the cuties in the bread-queue. He was the greatest lover that the world had ever known since his great countryman, that amazing rogue Casanova, had gone the way of all flesh some two hundred years before. With Gallic frankness he told Avril that she surpassed in loveliness all the women he had ever known, and with Latin speed in coming to the essential point suggested that they should leave the party, and adjourn forthwith to enjoy together the oldest pastime in the world.

  Avril had had similiar suggestions made to her during her theatrical career by a hundred different types of men, but never before with quite the outspoken abandon of the glossy Angelo. Inwardly she could not help being amused, though outwardly she maintained an expression of chill severity—and really Angelo was becoming a little embarrassing. It looked as though, nothing daunted by her refusal to leave the party, he meant to assault her there and then.

  Ronnie Sheringham saved the necessity for strong measures on either side by coming round the corner.

  ‘Hullo!’ he said to Angelo. ‘The big chiefs wanting you—you’d better get back.’

  ‘Mistaire Hinckman,’ exclaimed Angelo, standing up. ‘Madonna mia—an’ at such a time. Oh ’ell!’ He seized Avril’s hand and kissed it. ‘I seea you again, eh?—we maka da party together—very fine—Angelo maka you so ’appy you do not know,’ with which he rushed off to find his charge.

  Ronnie’s brown face broke into a smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I hope I haven’t spoilt your fun.’

  ‘On the contrary, your arrival was most opportune,’ Avril assured him, ‘that funny little Italian was quite, quite mad.’

  She was wondering who this young man could be—she had recognised his voice immediately as that of the Englishman she had overheard before, talking so airily about dukes and combines of a hundred million pounds—his face seemed familiar.

  ‘You’re Avril Bamborough, aren’t you?’ Ronnie said. ‘I hear you’re doing a picture for Ubiquitous.’

  ‘Yes—and I know you, too—only I can’t quite place you! I do hope you’re not a famous movie star and that I’ve made an awful gaff!’

  He grinned. ‘Oh, no—you’ve seen me at the Embassy—or the Berkeley, in London. I’ve often seen you there.’

  ‘That must be it,’ Avril nodded. ‘Tell me—do you know my uncle, John Bamborough? I passed the seat where you were sitting a few moments ago and I thought I heard you mention his name.’

  Ronnie went just a shade darker under his tan, he had never met John Bamborough in his life, but he carried off the situation perfectly. ‘Oh, John Bamborough! Rather—I don’t know him well, of course—but I’ve met him once or twice down at Hatfield.’

  ‘And did I hear you say you were with his second son at Eton?’ Avril was enjoying herself—she knew quite well that he was lying, and wondered why in the world he did not go on the screen. He reminded her of a shorter, more compact edition of Jack Buchanan, and he carried off this difficult situation with such perfect ease.

  ‘Yes—he wasn’t in my year, but we were there at the same time.’

  ‘How very queer,’ said Avril mildly. ‘Uncle John isn’t married…’

  ‘Really?’ Ronnie seemed not the least abashed. ‘Perhaps this chap was a nephew, or a different family altogether—it’s queer. I felt certain he was John Bamborough’s son. Care to stroll back and have an ice?’

  As they sauntered across the wide lawns to Clare de la Lune’s long, pretentious bungalow, Ronnie pointed out all sorts of interesting people. He seemed as full of information as Uncle Andy, and much more amusing—but Avril could not help wondering how many of his casual statements were actual facts.

  They each had a pineapple sundae, and went out into the sunshine again. ‘By the bye,’ said Ronnie, ‘if Hinckman offers you a contract—scrap everything and take it; don’t say I told you anything about it, but things are going to happen in Hollywood.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Avril enquired.

  ‘Oh, great changes you know—one or two big men are getting together. I was talking to Cinch of Klein Brothers just now—there’s trouble in the wind!’ He looked round and laughed suddenly.… ‘If only these people knew it, and they were a different type!—this might be the lawn of the R.Y.C. at Cowes in July ’fourteen. Ninety per cent of them haven’t any idea that things are going to blow up in the next few weeks. Two-thirds of them will be dead, as far as the film world’s concerned, this time next year.’

  ‘Dear me—you are an alarming person.’

  He ran his hand through his wavy hair. ‘Oh, no—but it’s just as well to be in on the ground floor—might as well buy British, even if we take the money off the Yanks, mightn’t we? I’ll have a word with Hinckman about you.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you—but I’ve got a contract with Hugo Schultzer already,’ Avril demurred.

  Ronnie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep over that! Hullo—there’s Nelson Druce. Hullo, Druce!’

  ‘Hello, Sheringham.’ A tall, attractive man paused beside them, he had humorous grey eyes and dark hair brushed smoothly back. Avril imagined him to be about thirty. He spoke with a faint but pleasant American accent. ‘What in the world has brought you to Hollywood?’

  ‘Oh, a spot of business and too many writs in London. D’you know Miss Bamborough?—Nelson Druce.’

  The American held put his hand, and as Avril took it, she noticed it particularly. It was strong, firm, resilient to the touch, and one of the most beautifully modelled hands that she ever remembered seeing on a man.

  ‘Coming in the Combine?’ asked Ronnie casually.

  ‘What do you know about the Combine?’ Druce’s humorous mouth suddenly hardened into a straight line.

  ‘Oh, quite a bit—you ought to come in—you’ll have to in the end.’

  ‘What!—with that swab Hinckman—not on your life. My old man believes in clean business—an’ I’ll say he’s right.’

  Ronnie smiled his disarming smile. ‘Oh, well—I don’t know much about the man, but it’s a big idea.’

  ‘Nuts! Trans-Continental Electric haven’t got the money to finance it—you’ll see, the whole thing’ll fizzle out in a fortnight.’

  ‘
Maybe—look here, there’s a chap over there I want to see, so I’ll leave you two—so long!’ Ronnie strolled off into the sunsnine.

  ‘I know your uncle just sufficient to say I’m acquainted, Miss Bamborough,’ said Nelson Druce. ‘He’s a great man and he’s turning out fine pictures now.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle John, yes—he’s a dear. I felt an awful beast leaving him, but I was simply dying to see what Hollywood was like. Tell me—I’ve met so many celebrities today, I hardly know where I am—are you Mr. Druce of Pacific Players?’

  He smiled. ‘Not exactly—but my old man is, and of course I’m in the business, too. Let’s hear what you think of Hollywood now that you’ve seen it!’

  ‘That’s a little difficult, isn’t it? after so short a time. Everybody seems very kind, but we should think one or two rather eccentric in England, perhaps!’

  ‘They’re not kind, Miss Bamborough, don’t you believe it.’ Nelson Druce’s eyes held hers steadily. ‘It’s dog eat dog in this rotten town—thank God I’m sailing for Europe in a fortnight’s time.’

  ‘For long?’

  ‘I’ll be away for a goodish while, and glad to see the back of this darn place—but let’s be cheerful! Come and see the rock garden!’

  ‘No, thanks, I’ve seen it,’ said Avril quickly.

  Tiny lines wrinkled up round his eyes in sudden merriment. ‘Some guy get fresh with you, eh? I’ll say they don’t lose much time in this town, but I didn’t mean a necking party. I’m harmless and engaged—see the fair girl over there?—that’s my fiancée—Vitelma Loveday, you may have heard of her.’

  Avril had and seen her, too. Starring in the productions that Pacific Players send out all over the world. ‘Of course I’ve seen her on the screen—but she is even more lovely in the flesh. I did have—shall we say—an “experience” in the rock garden with a most unpleasant Italian, who is, I gather, the Captain of Mr. Hinckman’s Prætorian Guard!’

  ‘Sure—I know him, rotten little wop. It’s a disgrace that Hinckman should keep those gangsters hanging round. It’s not really necessary—my old man doesn’t, and he’s as big as Hinckman any day.’