Dangerous Inheritance

by Dennis Wheatley

  Douglas passed a hand over his smooth dark hair. ‘Mr. Aron is right, you know. It is a hundred to one that these are the stones that should have been handed over to me for you last year. Anyway, assuming that the mine is worth fifteen thousand pounds, and I greatly doubt if we could get more for it, by accepting d’Azavedo’s offer you would be making an extremely handsome profit.’

  Occasionally Simon made jokes against his own race and now, spreading out his slender hands, he said with a heavy Jewish accent, ‘And der man vot takes a profit don’t never go broke. For God’s sake be sensible. However rich you are, take the man’s offer. If you don’t want the money you can always give it to someone else.’

  The Duke smiled and shook his head, but not very firmly. Then Douglas said, ‘There is one aspect you may not have considered. Owing to the state into which the mine has been allowed to fall, and labour difficulties, d’Azavedo will be letting himself in for a packet of trouble before he can hope to make it a paying proposition again. In fact, it’s a gamble which he may have reason to regret later. As you have no cause to like him, why not leave him holding this somewhat dubious baby?’

  ‘That is the best argument for accepting that has yet been put forward,’ said de Richleau. ‘All things considered, perhaps the two of you are right and I should be a fool not to take the fellow’s money, or rather these gems.’

  Having noticed a waiter eyeing the blazing array of stones with fascinated amazement, Douglas had already zipped up the leather cover of the shallow case. Now he slipped it back into his brief-case and said, ‘Very well, then. I’ll prepare a contract of sale. It should be ready by Monday.’

  As he stood up the Duke invited him to stay to lunch but he shook his head. ‘No, sir. Thanks all the same; but I’m temporarily responsible for this lot. D’Azavedo insisted that I should bring them to show you. He probably thought the sight of them was more likely to tempt you than just a description of them. I brought one of my clerks with me in the car and I’ve got a gun on me. All the same, the sooner I’ve handed them back to d’Azavedo the better I’ll be pleased, and he’s waiting for me in my office.’

  The rest of that day and Saturday and Sunday passed uneventfully, except that on Sunday morning Simon had a telephone call from Rex. On the flight it had emerged that the mechanics in Delhi had failed to put the faulty engine of his aircraft one hundred per cent right; so he had thought it best to come down at Trincomalee. He had Truss with him and they were motoring down to Colombo, but they did not expect to get in until late that night; so would not come to the Galle Face until Monday morning.

  Simon was out for a good part of the week-end, but Fleur called every afternoon to spend a couple of hours with de Richleau and twice had meals with them. On Sunday evening Simon had been invited to dine with a Mr. Chandrasekera, the chairman of one of Ceylon’s largest insurance brokers, and as Fleur and Douglas had a long-standing dinner engagement for that evening, the Duke was left on his own.

  Max always shaved him in the morning and helped him to dress; but he never kept his man up late, as he was perfectly capable of putting himself to bed and invariably did so on Sundays when Max had his evening off. On this occasion he went straight to bed after dinner and settled down to read. Then, at a little after ten o’clock, his telephone rang.

  When he answered it a high-pitched male voice said, ‘I speak wiv Mistair Aron, no? Hotel desk say he out. Say you also friend Mistair Missus Rajapakse. They have accident. Cars crash. Both hurt. Missus Rajapakse hurt very bad. They ask friends at Galle Face come quickly. Very urgent. They in my house. I send car fetch you. Ten minutes, yiss. You come pliss. No time for lose.’

  Quickly the Duke asked for further particulars, but received only a jumbled repetition of the facts that Fleur and Douglas had been injured in a car smash and that a car was being sent to fetch him. Then, before he could ask the address of the house into which they had been taken, the man rang off.

  From the urgency of the summons he gained the impression that Fleur’s injuries were so serious that she might be dying. The moment the line was clear he rang Max’s room, hoping he would be there to come along and help him dress more quickly, then come with him; but there was no reply, so evidently Max was still out. Panting a little he got into his clothes as swiftly as he could; then, as he did not know where to get hold of Simon, he scribbled a note telling him what had happened.

  Down in the hall, as soon as he spoke to the night porter he was told that a car had just arrived for Mr. Aron and himself. He gave the man the note for Simon and a good tip to ensure that it was given to him immediately he came in, then hurried out to the car.

  It was a dilapidated Citroën and its driver a bearded Indian wearing a turban and thick glasses. From that, as there were quite a number of Indian merchants in Colombo, de Richleau assumed that it was into the house of one of them that Fleur and Douglas had been taken. As soon as he was seated in the car he began to question the driver; but the man only smiled, shrugged and shook his head; so it seemed obvious that he did not speak English.

  The car ran inland, rounded the southern end of the lake then turned north, first through a seedy district then a more open area where here and there medium-sized houses stood a little back from the road in their own gardens. Some ten or twelve minutes after leaving the hotel the driver swerved his car sharply through an open gateway, up a short drive and pulled up with a jerk before a double-fronted two-storey house.

  As the Duke scrambled out the driver sounded his horn twice, then followed him. Mounting the three steps to a narrow verandah, de Richleau advanced towards the front door over which a light was showing. It swung open to reveal a big man with a heavy paunch, but against the light the Duke could see his features only vaguely. Next moment he felt a sharp prod in the back and the silent driver said in English:

  ‘Keep quiet. Go straight in. I press a gun against your backbone.’ At the same second de Richleau recognised the big man who was holding the door open as Ukwatte d’Azavedo.

  Drawing a sharp breath, he did as he was bid. Closing the door behind him and the driver, d’Azavedo smiled and said, ‘A surprise for you, eh? Better perhaps than to find young Mrs. Rajapakse in state you expected. I think that bring you here. And very necessary. We have some business to transact.’

  As he spoke he led the way into a room on the left of the fairly wide hall. It was a shabbily furnished sitting room. On a bamboo table in its centre the Duke saw some papers and the flat leather case in which Douglas had brought the jewels to the Galle Face. Behind him the driver said:

  ‘We have not said good evenings yet. You, I hope, remember me.’

  Turning, he saw that the pseudo Indian had thrown aside his beard and turban, and was pulling off a loose cotton garment. It had hidden a smart belted uniform, and its owner added with a laugh, ‘Colonel Lalita d’Azavedo of Ceylon Security Police at your service.’

  ‘Good evening … Colonel,’ de Richleau replied quietly. In spite of his eighty-five years his brain had lost none of its swiftness and in a matter of seconds this revelation made a number of things clear to him. As a senior secret police officer the younger d’Azavedo would have special facilities for checking up on people’s movements and, as Mrs. Bandaranaike found it necessary to keep a score of armed men in her garden, it was certain that her Government would have placed spies in every hotel and as servants in the houses of scores of people who were believed to be disaffected. By these means d’Azavedo could easily have found out that the Rajapakses and Simon were all dining out that evening and had seen to it in some way that Max should not return to the hotel before the telephone call was put through.

  After a moment he said, ‘May I ask the reason for your having lured me here?’

  ‘Very simple,’ Ukwatte replied, pointing to the documents on the table. ‘Here two copies of contract by which you return Olenevka to me, in exchange for twenty-five thousand pounds’ worth cut stones. We bring you here for sign.’

  De Richleau
gave a puzzled frown. ‘I have already agreed to the transaction, and Douglas Rajapakse is getting out a contract which will be ready tomorrow. Why have you gone to all this trouble to get me to sign it tonight? That is, if the terms of the contract you have drawn up are straightforward, and there is no catch in it.’

  ‘No, terms are same as they would be in Rajapakse’s.’

  ‘Then why …?’

  ‘That my business,’ d’Azavedo cut him short roughly. ‘Come! Pen there. You sit down, sign.’

  Taking up one of the documents the Duke read it through. He could see nothing wrong with it, except that the signatures of the two witnesses had already been written below the still blank space where the contracting parties were to sign; but common sense told him that the d’Azavedos would not have kidnapped him like this unless they intended to trick him in some way.

  ‘How about the jewels?’ he asked.

  ‘Here are jewels.’ Lalita unzipped the flat leather container, and the four hundred sapphires, rubies and topazes shimmered and glittered with a thousand rays of coloured light. ‘Soon as you have signed we hand over.’

  ‘What then?’ enquired the Duke, his grey eyes sharp with suspicion. ‘Will you let me go free, and arrange for me to be driven back to my hotel?’

  ‘Yes. I drive you back myself,’ replied Lalita cheerfully.

  De Richleau could not possibly believe that they were being honest with him. Tapping the contract he said, ‘I see no reason for this extreme urgency to settle our business. What can a few hours matter? I have promised to sign and I have never yet broken my word. But I prefer to sign an agreement drawn up by my own solicitor.’

  ‘You going to sign here and now,’ declared Ukwatte harshly.

  ‘What if I refuse?’

  The big man took a step towards him and his eyes held open hatred. ‘Then it be very bad for you. Two years ago you do best to ruin me. For me very great pleasure to give you beatings-up. For me it suits that you sign tonight. Sign then you had better. You are very old man. Beatings-up very bad for you. Refuse to sign would be good excuse for me to lose temper.’

  Leaning on his malacca cane, de Richleau’s gaze never faltered as he held the eyes of the big, rough-looking, paunchy man who confronted him. But he knew d’Azavedo was right. At his age a single blow could kill him. After a moment his lips twitched in a smile. He made a little bow and said, ‘Very well. You win.’

  Sitting down at the table, he took up the fountain pen that was lying there and wrote his name at the foot of both copies of the contract. Ukwatte did likewise and gave one to Lalita, who put it in his pocket; the other he slid under the soft leather flap of the jewel case then, with a grin, zipped it up and handed it over. Slipping it into the big inner pocket of his heavy camel-hair overcoat de Richleau stood up, wondering with some apprehension what was going to happen next.

  It came to him as no surprise when Ukwatte said, ‘You not leave yet. I tell now what I plan.’

  ‘I thought there was a catch in it somewhere,’ replied the Duke calmly.

  ‘Catch, yes.’ The big coarse-featured man stared at him with hard malignant eyes. ‘I not suppose you so big fool to think we got you here only to sign contract. But you were fool to think I give you stones worth seven-eight hundred thousan’ rupees to get back Olenevka. Also by return to Ceylon you signs your own death warrant. You is going to die.’

  ‘I have been expecting to die for some time.’ De Richleau’s voice never quavered. ‘I am only interested to know in what way you propose to bring about my death.’

  Ukwatte leaned forward. His lips parted in an ugly grin, showing his yellow teeth, and the Duke was unpleasantly conscious of his bad breath.

  ‘Death planned for you is very painful. Unfortunate but no way to avoid. Lars’ year death penalty reintroduce here. I take no risk—or of many years prison. Your death must look as accident. In back room here I have king cobra. We put you in room and leave rest to my snake.’

  For the first time de Richleau paled slightly. A cobra’s bite meant an agonising death, and he had always hoped that his end would be a relatively painless one. Moistening his lips, he said:

  ‘You won’t get away with this. The telephone call that lured me from the Galle Face will be traced. This contract that you have forced me to sign will be useless to you unless you have it ratified by the courts. Many people in Colombo know that you have grounds for wishing to be avenged on me. It will all add up. If you kill me it is a five to one chance that you will be tried for murder. Why take such a risk? You have got your contract. You would be on a much better wicket to keep the jewels and let me go.’

  ‘No.’ Ukwatte shook his dark head. ‘You miss biggest-ever point. For contract to be valid you must receive stones. At least, for people to believe I give you. If not, you go to law on me for not fulfilling contract.’

  ‘If you propose to bring about my death before I leave this house how can you possibly convince people that I did receive the jewels?’

  ‘I have work that out,’ Lalita put in with a sly grin. ‘That you were willing to do deal on these lines has been known by several people for past few days. Rajapakse’s office clerks, they draw up contract. One of my agents had good luck to see stones being shown you at the Galle Face Friday morning. Why my father wished to complete deal quickly may be asked. For that we have explanation. He has to go up to Jaffna tomorrow. Call quite unexpected but on business very urgent. May be detained there some days; so not’ings much extraordinary that he telephone and ask you to come here to sign contract tonight. Just as you go to leave house you have bad luck to tread on serpent in garden. Sort of misfortune not unusual. Happens in Ceylon somewhere maybe once a week.’

  ‘Very clever,’ snapped the Duke sarcastically. ‘But unless you leave the jewels on my dead body there will be no proof that I ever received them. And you will still be suspected of having arranged my death in order to retain them.’

  ‘No,’ Ukwatte snapped back. ‘Cobra bite kill fast. Soon after he bite you, while you still alive but can speak no more we put you in car and Lalita drive you back to Galle Face. Jewel case will still be in pocket of your coat, but stones no longer in it. Lalita give help to get you up to your room while doctor is sent for. Tomorrow morning empty case found in your pocket, also your copy of contract signed by both party. Everyone then think that while you unconscious and dying a servant found case and stole stones. To make this all sure, Lalita has made arrangement. Floor waiter on your floor at Galle Face, he in our pay. Man will not know why, but for good big sum he ready to leave for a village long way up-country. That he disappears make everyone think him be thief.’

  For a moment de Richleau remained silent, striving to find a flaw in this damnably clever plot made possible only by d’Azavedo having offered jewels in payment for Olenevka instead of a cheque. Then he said, ‘No, it won’t wash. If everything had happened as you mean to represent it, and the whole affair been above board, your son would have come to fetch me openly, in the sort of car a Colonel would use. But he did not. To get me here he had to use a disguise. Apparently I am picked up by an Indian who cannot speak English. An Indian cannot take me back and give all the necessary explanations about how I came to be bitten by a snake. The Colonel must take me back as himself. But where has the Indian got to? People will want to know, and you won’t be able to produce him. Once the Colonel appears on the scene he will have involved himself. But he still has a chance to keep out of this. No-one can prove that he was here tonight. If I were in his shoes, I would back out while there is still time. The best thing he can do is to run me back to within a quarter of a mile of the Galle Face, drop me there and make himself scarce.’

  Lalita’s dark face suddenly took on a greyish tinge. His eyes looked enormous through his thick spectacles. Turning to his father he exclaimed, ‘Gautama defend me, he is right! We fail to foresee that when Indian driver cannot be found suspicions will be arouse. If I take Duke back someone perhaps guess it was I dress as Indi
an who pick him up. No! I not show face at the Galle Face tonight, or I will be in it up to neck. We must think; find some other way of disposing of body.’

  Standing up, Ukwatte broke into a harsh tirade in Sinhalese; Lalita replied with equal anger. As de Richleau had hoped, he had set the son against the father, and for several minutes they quarrelled bitterly. Then it became obvious that Lalita refused to be coerced. At length he turned to de Richleau and exclaimed in English:

  ‘You clever devil! I wish very much now my father let me do as you ask, so we are rid of you. But he say “No”. Me, I get out. No-one be able to say I am Indian who pick you up, or prove that in all this I take any part.’ Turning on his heel he marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  De Richleau gave a heavy sigh. He had won half the battle for his life but he knew that he was very far from being out of the wood. To the glowering Ukwatte he said with a confidence he was far from feeling:

  ‘When rogues fall out good men come into their own. So it remains only for me to point out to you that if you proceed with your idea of murdering me your chances of getting away with it are now more slender than ever. The contract that I have signed will prove completely valueless to you unless you admit that I came here tonight to sign it. Now that your son has ratted on you, how do you propose to get my still living body back to the Galle Face unless you drive it there yourself? And remember, the Indian who brought me here will still remain unaccounted for. You really would be well advised to keep the jewels and let me go.’

  For a full minute Ukwatte remained silent, then he said, ‘No. You would bring action to get them. To fulfil contract I have to give. Then I would be at great loss.’

  ‘What if I gave my word not to bring a case?’ suggested the Duke.

  ‘I would not take. Once free you feel only urge to get back on me.’

  With a calmness that he was not feeling, de Richleau shrugged. ‘Without your son’s help, how can you possibly hope to kill me and not be found out?’