But by half-past eleven there was no more that he could say without getting to the meat of the matter. For a few minutes he attempted to hold his audience with an account of witty remarks that Fox and Selwyn had made over dinner, but the judge rapped sharply on his desk and said sternly:
‘This is not material evidence. The witness is wasting the time of the court. He must come to the point or stand down.’
Roger again apologised, then started to tell how they had played cards after dinner. But under the judge’s disapproving stare began to falter, and it was still only twenty-five to twelve. He knew that he had reached the last extremity.
* * * * *
But there was just one more thing that he could try. He broke off what he was saying and asked the judge’s permission to send a written note up to him. Consent was given and paper brought to him. On it he wrote:
My Lord,
I tender my humblest apologies, but I have been talking of irrelevant matters with the object of gaining time. A friend of mine is urgently seeking another witness who, if he will, can I believe, give fresh evidence which would prove the prisoner’s innocence. I can make no promise that this witness will ever come into Court; but I beg you most earnestly to allow me to continue to occupy the witness-stand without further admonition until the Court adjourns for dinner. Should the witness not appear I then solemnly undertake to disclose all I know regarding Sir Humphrey Etheredge’s death.
The note was passed up to the judge. Having read it he looked first at Georgina, then at Roger, and said:
‘ ’Tis obvious to us all that the witness is suffering considerable pain from his injuries. The time being twenty minutes to twelve, in order to afford him a respite, the court will adjourn for dinner twenty minutes earlier than usual. But I warn the witness that when he returns to the stand on our reopening the proceedings at one o’clock I will listen to nothing further from him except relevant facts.’
As the judge rose Roger sighed his thanks and staggered half-fainting from the box.
A few minutes later he left a message with the porter on the door, to be given to Droopy in the event of his arrival, then he accompanied Colonel Thursby and his lawyers to a tavern across the street. After swallowing three gills of neat rum in quick succession he felt slightly better. He realised that he had performed a great feat in just talking out the time of the court and then securing an adjournment; but he also knew that his victory was only a temporary one. If Droopy and Vorontzoff did not appear by one o’clock the game was up.
But he was not doomed to be the victim of that consuming anxiety for much longer. Shortly after mid-day they did appear, and the Russian’s demeanour was cold but courteous.
When the court reassembled, Georgina’s counsel asked leave to place the Russian Ambassador in the box at once, as his evidence would render further testimony by Roger unnecessary.
Vorontzoff told the court through an interpreter that his second appearance there was occasioned by the fact that, as a foreigner, he had little knowledge of the workings of British justice. When he had given his evidence before he had been under the impression that although Lady Etheredge denied throwing the scent-bottle, if it was proved that she had, she would still be able to enter a plea of having done so in self-defence, and so secure her acquittal.
He went on smoothly to the effect that he had since been too occupied with his own affairs to follow the case, and it was only that morning, when Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel had come to him at Richmond, that he had realised that Lady Etheredge was in serious danger of being condemned to death for her act. This had caused him to take an entirely new view of his own responsibility in the matter.
He then confessed that previously he had omitted a part of the evidence he could have given, from a natural reluctance to disclose the fact that he had been spying on Lady Etheredge on the morning of her husband’s death. Intrigued to learn the result of his own letter to Sir Humphrey he had risen early. He had heard the Baronet arrive and followed him to Lady Etheredge’s room. The door having been left ajar he had peeped through the crack and actually witnessed the altercation. Sir Humphrey had raised his whip to strike his wife and, as he struck, she had thrown the scent-bottle at him. She had fainted as a result of the blow, but, although the bottle had caught him on the head, it had not even knocked him down. He had appeared a little stunned for a moment, then walked over to her washstand and bathed the cut on his temple. Therefore he obviously could not have died from the crack on the head, but must have been seized by an apoplexy a few moments later. Not wishing to be seen, Vorontzoff had then stolen away. He concluded his evidence by saying that had Lady Etheredge seen what he had, she would no doubt have told the truth about throwing the bottle, but her swoon had prevented her from knowing the comparatively harmless effect it had had, and finding her husband in a fit on the floor when she came to, she had obviously thought that to have been the result of her own act.
Roger sighed with relief. The Russian had told the story, almost word for word as he had briefed Droopy to give it to him.
The judge then instructed the jury that they should return a verdict of ‘Not Guilty.’
A quarter of an hour later Georgina, Roger, Droopy Ned and Colonel Thursby were in the latter’s coach heading westward. Georgina was holding Roger’s hand and she squeezed it tenderly as she said:
‘My dear, my sweet, my perfect knight. I can scarce yet believe it true. But tell us, I beg, how you worked this wondrous miracle?’
He laughed. ‘Did you not see Droopy hand Vorontzoff a piece of yellowed parchment as they left the court? ’Twas the Russian’s fee for bearing false witness.’
‘I saw him do so,’ said the Colonel. ‘What was it, Roger?’
‘ ’Twas a letter that I stole whilst in Russia, Sir; the only evidence in the world that the Czarina Catherine murdered her husband. The Prime Minister said that it was useless to him as it could never be published, so last night I got it back from him to use as a bargaining-counter with Vorontzoff. Thank God he considered it his duty to buy it; for I was damnably afraid that he would be of the same mind as Mr. Pitt. And, had he been so, Georgina and I would have danced our last dance together on empty air.’
‘May it please God to spare you both for many years of joyous dancing yet,’ said the Colonel, with tears in his eyes.
‘Or years of married bliss, for that matter,’ added Droopy Ned.
‘Natalia!’ exclaimed Roger, recalling for the first time in many hours that he had a wife.
Droopy shook his head. ‘Vorontozoff asked me to break it to you. As a result of her fall your wife died of an internal haemorrhage in the early hours of the morning. He said, too, that since she lived as a Russian, and died as a Russian, he hoped you would agree to his sending her body back to Russia for burial.’
‘So you were married, Roger,’ Georgina whispered. ‘That was the wedding-ring that I saw in the glass. Then the whole of my prophecy came true.’
‘But he is married no longer,’ persisted Droopy mischievously.
Roger and Georgina looked at one another; then they both smiled and slowly shook their heads.
‘Nay,’ she said with a little sob, and she squeezed Roger’s hand until it hurt. ‘We’ll not risk marriage; but in this life, and in all our lives to come, we will remain for ever friends.’
A Note on the Author
DENNIS WHEATLEY
Dennis Wheatley (1897–1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world’s best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.
Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.
His first book, The Forbidden Territory, became a bestseller ove
rnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming’s James Bond stories.
During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.
Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.
Discover books by Dennis Wheatleypublished by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley
Duke de Richleau
The Forbidden Territory
The Devil Rides Out
The Golden Spaniard
Three Inquisitive People
Strange Conflict
CodewordGolden Fleece
The Second Seal
The Prisoner in the Mask
Vendetta in Spain
Dangerous Inheritance
Gateway to Hell
Gregory Sallust
Black August
Contraband
The Scarlet Impostor
Faked Passports
The Black Baroness
V for Vengeance
Come into My Parlour
The Island Where Time Stands Still
Traitors’ Gate
They Used Dark Forces
The White Witch of the South Seas
Julian Day
The Quest of Julian Day
The Sword of Fate
Bill for the Use of a Body
Roger Brook
The Launching of Roger Brook
The Shadow of Tyburn Tree
The Rising Storm
The Man Who Killed the King
The Dark Secret of Josephine
The Rape of Venice
The Sultan’s Daughter
The Wanton Princess
Evil in a Mask
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware
The Irish Witch
Desperate Measures
Molly Fountain
To the Devil a Daughter
The Satanist
Lost World
They Found Atlantis
Uncharted Seas
The Man Who Missed the War
Espionage
Mayhem in Greece
The Eunuch of Stamboul
The Fabulous Valley
The Strange Story of Linda Lee
Such Power is Dangerous
The Secret War
Science Fiction
Sixty Days to Live
Star of Ill-Omen
Black Magic
The Haunting of Toby Jugg
The KA of Gifford Hillary
Unholy Crusade
Short Stories
Mediterranean Nights
Gunmen, Gallants and Ghosts
This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
First published in 1948 by Hutchinson & Co. Ltd.
Copyright © 1948 Dennis Wheatley
All rights reserved You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448212897
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