Traitor's Doom (Dr. Palfrey)

by John Creasey

  Slowly the Catanese said: ‘That grieves me, Señor Palfrey.’

  Palfrey said abruptly: ‘It will grieve you more in the future, Don Salvos—it will always be on your conscience.’ With the words he cast the die, knowing that it would be impossible to leave without making it clear to Don Salvos what he was feeling – brutally clear if necessary.

  The old man retorted, ‘Señor Palfrey, I shall not alter my decision, and I must urge upon you the need for leaving here quickly. Already you have stayed longer than is wise.’ The double meaning of the last sentence was obvious, and Palfrey’s lips tightened. I hoped that we should part on good terms, and I still hope that,’ continued Don Salvos.

  Palfrey drew a deep breath.

  There was a complete silence for more than five seconds, before he began to speak. His voice was very low, and at first his words were hesitant and uncertain, but they gathered coherence as he went on, and although the tone of his voice strengthened it did not rise.

  ‘We shall part,’ he said. ‘And I shall go into the fields and the villages, Don Salvos. I shall see the people, hungry. Your people. The Guarda Nationale is an organisation of terrorists. When I hear that the Nazis and the Fascists are entering the country, that their aeroplanes and their guns are pounding the life out of any of your people who resist the revolution—and some will resist, they will not allow it to happen without resistance—I shall think of a man whose life I came to save because it was considered of great importance to his country. I shall think of that, and shall know that he preferred to lie here and to do nothing. It will not be a pleasant thought, Don Salvos, for I shall wonder if I did right to come.’ He stopped abruptly.

  So deep was the quiet that there was hardly a sound of any breathing, and there was no movement. The old man stared into Palfrey’s eyes, his own bright and almost feverish, spots of colour on either cheek. Then Palfrey said: ‘What are the names of the leaders of the Guarda Nationale, Don Salvos? What are the names of the Members of the Cores who are secretly sympathetic to it? Who are the members of the police and other authorities who will support it? Who are the Army and Navy officers who will go with the revolutionaries? If you cannot do anything yourself you can name them and let others try.’ There was another silence.

  Then the old man stirred, and at last he began to speak in a low, spiritless voice:

  I did not think I should live to hear such words, señor. All my life has belonged to Catania. Lately, I have come to the conclusion that I can do nothing, the movement of the Guarda is too powerful. And it will have the support of the majority of the people, remember that.’

  The majority!’ exclaimed Palfrey hotly. ‘The people who are hungry and who believe they will be fed? Have you really blinded yourself to the truth? Or are you believing these things because you want to believe them? Who are the leaders, Don Salvos? You can name them, and if they are named they might be stopped.’

  Don Salvos kept his eyes closed.

  Palfrey thought that he had said all that he was going to say.

  He felt a deep dejection, a sense of failure and deflation, and he stood without speaking.

  Then in a whispering voice Don Salvos said: ‘At Torvil. Most of them are in the casino, or living near it. I will think on your words, señor. I have fought to keep aside from these issues, but …’ He paused, and then opened his eyes, and they seemed filled with a sadness which was incalculable. ‘I realised quite early, my friend, who you had brought to me. José Fonesca, of course. I took a great risk in allowing him to stay, for if it were known that he was here I would be considered on the side of the Social Patriots, and I am on no side. But I owed you so much, and so he stayed. You must get him away tonight, he is no longer safe here. My friendship with you will bring the authorities with more insistent demands, and perhaps the Guarda. Once before you warned me that I might be in personal danger, but despite that I allowed him to stay.’

  Palfrey said quietly: ‘You knew that no man in this country should be hunted and without a place of safety, Don Salvos. We will take him with us, now. And—’ His quick, diffident smile showed, and Don Salvos eyed him quite steadily. ‘It is my turn to wonder whether I should have adopted an attitude, Don Salvos, but I think I should, and I remind you—you can save Catania, if you will.’

  He turned abruptly, and opened the door.

  Drusilla turned with him. Stefan stood looking down at the old man, smiling a little. Palfrey and Drusilla watched him from the door, seeing him stretch down a hand and rest it lightly on Don Salvos’ shoulder.

  ‘It has been my privilege to meet many great men,’ said Stefan softly. ‘I have met another tonight, Don Salvos.’

  Then he turned also, and joined the others by the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Journey with José Fonesca

  The landing was empty.

  A light glowed along the passage which Palfrey knew led to Fonesca’s room. There was silence in the house, as if every part of it was in accord with the bedroom they had just left. They stood still for some seconds, and then Palfrey took out a handkerchief and dabbed the back of his neck.

  ‘José next, I think,’ he said. His voice was flat.

  The trio went into Fonesca’s room.

  It was approached by a small ante-room, the door of which was standing open. The room itself was not as large as that they had left, but it was large enough and airy, and comfortably furnished.

  Fonesca smiled, thin-lipped.

  ‘I am warned of trouble, señor.’ He looked from Palfrey to Drusilla, and leaned forward in a bow. ‘Greetings, señorita.’ To Stefan he bowed also. ‘And you, señor.’

  ‘Hallo,’ said Palfrey, and smiled. Diffidence dropped from him. ‘Trouble needn’t be met half-way, Señor José. We can dispense with some of the trappings now—all of us know who you are.’

  Fonesca raised his eyebrows, no more than that. The darkness of his brows was in strange contrast to his white hair.

  ‘That is so?’

  ‘We won’t go into details,’ said Palfrey. ‘Don Salvos also knows who you are, and advises us to get you away from here quickly. We can’t go out of the front door, but some of your people are in the grounds and we have at least an even chance.’

  ‘I am delighted,’ said Fonesca ironically. ‘The chances have not been even for me for a long time, señor. But will you be good enough to tell me where you are taking me?’

  ‘To Vicosa,’ said Palfrey.

  The other frowned. ‘Vicosa?’

  ‘On the suggestion of Vasca and Hermandes Bombarda,’ said Palfrey, and half-turned towards Drusilla. ‘Will you wait in the ante-room, Drusilla? Thanks.’ He watched the door close as Stefan lifted some underclothes from a pile on a chair near the bed. He smiled at Fonesca. ‘We are doing all we can to help you and the Bombardas, José.’ The ‘José’ came quite naturally, and evoked no surprise. ‘The police and the Guarda are looking for us as anxiously as they are for you, and we want to travel by night. Also,’ he added quietly, ‘we want to get on to Torvil.’

  Fonesca snapped: ‘That den of infamy! Of wastrel fools? Of pariahs living on the good things of the earth while the people starve? That—’

  ‘Easy, now,’ said Palfrey, helping the sick man to dress, and smiling good-humouredly. ‘I’ve just talked that way to Don Salvos, and I’m told that the Guarda Nationale has its headquarters at Torvil.’

  ‘A Dios!’ ejaculated Fonesca. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘We can make sure,’ said Palfrey. ‘Now stand up, and see how it goes.’

  With Stefan’s help Fonesca rose unsteadily to his feet. He took several shaky steps forward and then stood still, grimacing. Palfrey took his other hand, and between them they led him across the room and back. He sat down again, and breathed heavily, the colour quite gone from his cheeks.

  ‘I can carry him,’ said Stefan.

  ‘Indeed you will not!’ snapped Fonesca. He stood up again, but swayed to one side and would have fallen but for Pa
lfrey’s support. He regarded Stefan with dark humour. ‘But perhaps you will,’ he added, and shrugged resignedly.

  With the invalid between them, Stefan and Palfrey walked into the ante-room.

  Palfrey turned to Stefan.

  ‘Better carry him down the stairs,’ he said.

  ‘What am I, a child?’ demanded Fonesca in a fierce undertone.

  Palfrey opened the door after the light had been switched off, and called out softly: ‘Are you there?’

  Drusilla joined him.

  ‘I’d better talk, Sap,’ she said.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘One day I’ll learn Catanese. Then I’ll really have all the qualifications.’ He stopped as a shadowy figure approached, and the starlight was enough for him to recognise the armed man who had first greeted him in the grounds. Drusilla talked quickly and softly. The man answered, his voice soft and musical, but there was a new note in it, and when she had finished he exclaimed: ‘José Fonesca, the good God be thanked!’

  Palfrey stood away from the door while Fonesca came out with Stefan. He saw the guide go forward and touch Fonesca’s hand, raising it to his lips. In that moment he understood more of the power which Fonesca had over his supporters, realising that he was regarded with a respect amounting to reverence.

  It was a strange realisation.

  They were taking a man from the home of Don Salvos, a man who might be able to stir the country to a counter revolution against the Guarda, a political influence probably as great as any other individual in the country. It was easy to understand that Fonesca could gain adherents who would give their lives for him. There was a strange, almost hypnotic fascination about the man, a power which emanated from him, which made itself felt even on those who were unaffected by his politics, untinged by partisanship.

  Palfrey found himself contrasting this man with Don Salvos.

  Don Salvos was the patriarch, the gentle savant, the leader who would lead by soft words and honeyed phrases, whose even temper could turn away wrath, whose good deeds had built for him a pedestal from which only an earthquake would make him fall. Calmness and kindliness were part of him – that, and a lack of decision, the unwillingness of an old man to make personal sacrifices. He wanted to do what he could for the masses and even loved them; and yet he shrank from taking an active part on their behalf.

  Palfrey felt that he was being carried along on an avalanche of party and political strife, as if he had done something to release the brakes, but that now the movement was in real motion he could do nothing to stop it. He was not cheered even by the presence of Drusilla, who walked close by him.

  The guides, four of them now, led the way.

  Stefan carried Fonesca fireman-fashion, and walked with long, easy strides. Drusilla stood between him and Palfrey, and he could see the pale blur of her face in the darkness. She broke the silence, and also the spell of depression which possessed him, by asking: ‘Is there a car near?’

  ‘Not unless they know of one,’ said Palfrey. ‘How far is Allegro from here?’

  ‘About six miles.’

  ‘We can get a car there.’

  One of the guides turned, and said in Catanese: ‘Wait here, please.’

  ‘Why are we waiting?’ Fonesca asked of the guides.

  ‘Until the police pass by, Señor José.’

  As his words faded the little party heard the approach of several men, their footsteps loud and clear. Palfrey wondered what time it was, knowing that it must be past midnight, and perhaps as late as two o’clock.

  A greater hush fell upon the group.

  The footsteps drew nearer, and they heard voices. They waited in a sense almost of desperation, and then the police stopped outside the gate.

  After a pause footsteps sounded again and the patrol moved away.

  Lifting Fonesca again without difficulty, Stefan walked along the road, followed by Palfrey and Drusilla and the four guides. They had gone no more than fifty yards when the sound of an engine drew near, and the headlights of a car swayed up and down as the car turned a corner.

  ‘Look out!’ snapped Palfrey, sotto voce.

  ‘It is all right, señor.’ The voice of one of the guides sounded reassuring. ‘Our journey has been arranged by Señor Bombarda.’

  A second car turned the corner, closely followed by a third, and then by a fourth. All four cars came to a standstill, Fonesca was helped into the tonneau of the second.

  ‘Will you join him, Sap?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘Er—yes, I think I will,’ said Palfrey. ‘Thanks.’

  Drusilla touched his arm.

  He was very conscious of her nearness, and wished that he could see her better. He wanted to talk more freely with Fonesca, but wished also that he could travel with Drusilla, with whom he felt there would be no need to talk.

  ‘Sap,’ whispered Drusilla, ‘find out all you can about the Guarda leaders. They say Fonesca knows more of them than anyone else.’

  He felt the pressure of her hand on his. Then she withdrew it and stepped to the third car, more crowded than the second because of Stefan’s bulk. Palfrey looked after her for a moment, then followed Fonesca. Two of the guides sat in the seat in front of him, in addition to the driver, who let in the clutch after saying: ‘Vicosa, Señor José?’

  ‘Vicosa,’ repeated Fonesca, and as the car started up he turned to Palfrey and nodded sardonically: ‘That suits your convenience, señor?’

  ‘My convenience!’ Palfrey was stung to retort. I’ve been thinking of no one’s but yours for a week!’

  Fonesca turned his head away, and for some minutes they went along in silence, Palfrey indulging in a mild orgy of self-pity.

  ‘Señor.’ Fonesca broke the silence softly.

  ‘Er—yes?’ asked Palfrey, startled.

  ‘I think I am only now realising how much I owe to you,’ said Fonesca. ‘Your words brought that home very sharply, and for my poor grace I apologise, señor. I ask you to excuse me on the grounds that I have been a sorely tried and harassed man, as well as a sick one. It has not been possible for me to make contact with my friends very easily while I have been at Don Salvos’ home, and I am not sure of what has been happening. What reports have reached me suggest that the Guarda Nationale will not be long in striking.’

  ‘I don’t think they will,’ agreed Palfrey.

  ‘And obviously you have put yourself in their disfavour, señor, and if that has been on my behalf I apologise again. I believe that you have come from England because of the representations of Vasca Bombarda to certain influential Englishmen. Is that right?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ said Palfrey slowly. ‘And others are here.’

  ‘Meaning who, señor?’

  ‘You know of the Marquis?’

  ‘A Dios, he is here!’ A fierce note filled Fonesca’s voice. ‘That is good to hear, señor. Vasca Bombarda has done well, I can see that. When shall I meet him?’

  ‘At Vicosa, I hope.’

  ‘Good!’ said Fonesca vigorously. ‘For a long time I have been wanting to talk to him. This rising must not take place, you have the good sense to understand that. At the moment my party is not strong enough to prevent it from starting, and in any case it would lead to bloodshed, which must be stopped.’ Fonesca’s voice throbbed with urgency, and Palfrey stiffened, surprised by the sentiments; he had expected Fonesca to look on a rising as an opportunity for making an attempt to seize power. ‘We are not strong enough to prevent their success,’ repeated Fonesca vigorously, ‘and every effort of the Marquis and all friends of Catania must be turned towards stopping the revolution. You understand that?’

  ‘Only too well,’ admitted Palfrey.

  ‘Good! You have told me that many of the leaders of the Guarda are at Torvil. Are you sure of it?’

  ‘I had it on good authority.’

  ‘It is a likely place for the breeding of Fascists,’ said Fonesca searingly. I would take from every man and woman who plays at the tables of the casino every penny t
hey possess, señor, and I would distribute it amongst the poor. But those things do not matter now! What matters is finding the leaders of the Guarda and preventing them from giving the signal.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Palfrey. ‘Yes. First find your man, then hang him. It helps to know who he is, too.’

  ‘I can name those who matter,’ said Fonesca confidently.

  ‘All of them?’ asked Palfrey.

  ‘Silverra, Corra, Herculano,’ said Fonesca. ‘They are the three of importance, and my men have been searching for them for a long time, but I do not believe they have found them. At Torvil,’ he murmured very softly. ‘That is good news, señor, and Torvil is a place where strangers can gather and not be suspected, strangers friendly towards us as well as towards the Guarda.’

  Silverra – Corra – Herculano.

  The four cars travelled swiftly through the night, and made a blaze of light with headlamps which puzzled Palfrey, for it seemed to advertise their presence too clearly. There had been no trouble with barricades across the roads, although there was little doubt that the guides knew of the possibility of an attempt to hold them up. He had no doubt either that the first and last cars were filled with armed men, to protect the ‘convoy’ against attack from the front or from the rear; but the lights still puzzled him.

  He wondered how far it was to Vicosa.

  Then he found himself dozing. The beat of the engines of the four cars was loud, yet did not unduly disturb him, for he grew used to it. The cars went at a good speed, swaying up and down over an uneven road, but even that did not prevent him from nodding. Once he jerked himself up, surprised to find himself so tired.

  The explosion which awakened him was so deafening and powerful that he was flung backwards against the upholstery of the car, and his head cracked against the rear window. He was dazed and a little breathless, and did not understand what had happened until a second explosion came ahead of him; a vast yellow-and-red sheet of flame lit up the countryside, and he could see the billow of dust in front. Worse than that, he could see bombs dropping downwards in the glare from an aeroplane he had not seen and had not suspected near at hand.