Vendetta in Spain

by Dennis Wheatley

  However, the Count reasoned, six days having elapsed, by now Sanchez should have made an attempt to exert some form of blackmail through the photograph. Allowing two days for him to reach the place where he meant to go to earth, a third for a letter from him to reach San Sebastian, a fourth for Gulia to send it on to Granada and a fifth for the hall-porter to forward it on to him in Cadiz, it should have arrived that morning. As that schedule made no allowance for delays, de Quesnoy felt it might easily be another couple of days before Sanchez’ ultimatum reached him.

  When it did, the advantage would lie with the enemy, as there could no longer be any hope of taking him by surprise. To stand any chance of getting hold of that damnable photograph he, de Quesnoy, would have to walk into whatever trap Sanchez might set for him. It was a gloomy prospect; but there was still a chance that Sanchez might be in Cadiz, or that Inez might be found and bribed or forced to give information as to his whereabouts; so there must be no relaxing the search for them until the letter turned up to provide a definite, if dangerous, new opening.

  That night La Torcera again set off on her quest while the Count kept a lonely vigil. She returned much earlier than expected. It was only a little after midnight and he had not long left the lounge to go up to their suite. To his delight he saw at a glance that she had news. Her eyes sparkling with excitement, she exclaimed:

  ‘I’ve found her! It was sheer luck. I was doing my act as usual in one of the bars when I overheard two men at a table talking. One said to the other, “Have you been to the Silver Galleon lately? There’s a red-head there, a girl named Inez, that I used to know as a kid. She left Cadiz some time ago but she came back last month. She won’t play for less than ten pesetas, but you can take my word that she’s worth every centavo of it.”’

  ‘And then?’ asked the Count eagerly.

  ‘I felt sure he must have been speaking of the bitch we’re after; so in another bar I asked the whereabouts of the Silver Galleon. It is a fair-sized inn some way from the red-light district but still on the water-front. It lies behind the little park in which stands the memorial to the Cortes. I went off there at once and my luck was in. The place has a cosy little bar and is frequented by the better class of seamen. There were eight or ten of them in there drinking and playing dice, and only two girls: Inez and another. I hung about for a bit and again luck favoured me. One of the men had been standing her drinks and they went out together. I shuffled after them and managed to see that they didn’t leave the house. They went upstairs together; so evidently she’s got a room there and the landlord is in on it, taking a rake-off on her earnings.’

  ‘I suppose you saw no sign of Sanchez?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, none. But at that hour it would have been surprising to see them together. If she is keeping him, as I have no doubt she is, the last thing he would do is to go about with her in the evenings. Even if he loitered in the same bar it would soon get round that he was her bully and be likely to scare off her possible customers.’

  ‘That’s true. Anyhow, you having run her to earth is half the battle. With luck now, she’ll lead me to him.’

  For a moment de Quesnoy was tempted to go out there and then on the chance that by the time he reached the Silver Galleon Inez would be back down in the bar hoping to pick up another customer, but he put the idea from him. She might be spending the night with the man who had gone upstairs with her, or when he had left her decide not to come down again; and he did not want to show himself in the bar until he could be reasonably certain that she would be there.

  Next morning he made out a draft on the Banco de Coralles for four thousand pesetas in favour of La Torcera. With the thousand he had already given her she would be receiving about £200 for her services, but he did not consider that an excessive price for having enabled him again to get on Sanchez’ track, seeing that there had been no other possible way of his doing so.

  He thought it very unlikely that her troupe at Granada would refuse to take her back after her few days’ absence or, if they did, that she would not be able to get a job as a dancer in a café. In any case, with her normally modest way of living, such a sum would keep her for a year, or provide a much fatter nest egg than that of which Sanchez had robbed her. Even so, as he had promised her the money, he was surprised and touched when, on his giving her the draft, she burst into tears, kissed his hands, called down blessings on him and declared him to be a true hidalgo.

  Before lunch he went out and bought at a ready-made clothes shop a blue cloth suit with a square-breasted jacket, a muffler and a flat cap with a shiny peak, which would give him a somewhat nautical appearance. Then, thinking it probable that he might be up all night, he went to bed in the afternoon and had a long sleep.

  In the evening he had an early meal sent up to the sitting-room and afterwards changed into the rig-out that he had bought earlier in the day. No letter forwarded on by Gulia had arrived that morning, so La Torcera’s having located Inez Giudice remained his only chance of getting on Sanchez’ trail. That he might not have returned to her after his trip to San Sebastian, or had returned and since left her for some other woman, were, the Count realised, depressing possibilities. But should either prove the case he might still hope to deal with Inez as he had with La Torcera and secure from her a new lead to his quarry.

  At half past nine, still speculating, not altogether pessimistically, on his chances of settling accounts with Sanchez that night, he walked out of the Hotel Atlántico. He had left La Torcera up in the sitting-room immersed in a new batch of picture papers. Now that she had done the job that he had required of her and he had paid her off, it was his intention the following morning to put her safely on a train back to Granada. The one thing he did not expect was that he would never see her again.

  14

  The red-headed harlot

  Having been indoors most of the day de Quesnoy had intended to walk to the Silver Galleon, but it was something over a mile away and within a few minutes of leaving the Atlántico there was a distant rumble of thunder, then it came on to rain; so he picked up a carriage. It set him down opposite the flamboyant monument commemorating the Cortes held in Cadiz in 1812, that had given Spain her famous Liberal Constitution, then he walked through the park in the direction La Torcero had told him that the Silver Galleon lay.

  He found the inn without-difficulty. It stood on a corner and was a rambling old seventeenth-century two-storied building with tiled roofs that buckled here and there, gable windows and an archway in its front that faced on to the park and port. After inspecting its two visible sides, the Count walked through the archway to find, as he expected, that it led to a yard that had stabling for three or four vehicles and about a dozen horses. A covered wagon stood in its centre but no one was about.

  On either side of the archway, near its street end, there was a door. From under one only a faint light showed; from the other came a much brighter light and the sound of voices. This door obviously led to the bar. The short, sharp shower was over but de Quesnoy still had the collar of his jacket turned up and now, pulling the peak of his cap well down, he went in.

  At a glance he saw it to be a comfortable room furnished with old but solid pieces. In one corner four men were playing dice, farther along two others were seated drinking, a seventh was leaning on the bar and, beyond him, two women were sitting in an inglenook with a table in front of them. Behind the bar stood a broad-shouldered, square-faced man of about fifty with greyish grizzled hair, whom de Quesnoy rightly guessed to be the landlord.

  Touching his cap with a mumured Buenas tardes to the company, he walked over to the bar and ordered himself a brandy and ginger-ale. It was not a mixture that he particularly liked, but he had found that while the best Spanish brandy, although not comparable with fine French cognac, was quite palatable, the worst could be horrible; so in a place like this it was safer not to take it neat.

  The landlord had been chatting with the other men at the bar. As he served the Count,
he remarked that it was getting late in the year for a thunderstorm, but it didn’t look like coming to much. De Quesnoy replied that it had already stopped raining, which was a pity as it was oppressive and a bit more would have freshened things up. Then the landlord just nodded and moved along to resume his conversation with his earlier customer.

  The Count took a drink and lit a cigarette. Both the women behind him were wearing mantillas made from small fluffy black bobbles sewn on to net, but under this head-dress the hair of one of them had certainly been lightish, and as nine out of ten women in Spain were brunettes he felt fairly certain she would prove to be Inez Giudice. It looked, too, as though he had timed his entry well, as he had not wanted to have to linger about there and perhaps drawn into conversation with other people before she turned up, or, on the other hand, leave his arrival so late that she might have already been picked up by some other man.

  When he had smoked a third of his cigarette he glanced round and remained looking at the two girls for a moment as though he had noticed them for the first time. Now, he had no doubt that the fair one was Inez. Her head had been in shadow when he had glanced at her before, but now the rays of a lamp on the bar brought out its vivid red lights. As their eyes met she smiled and closed one of hers in a wink.

  Returning her smile, he carried his glass over to their table, asked permission to join them, and then if he might buy them a drink. The red-head asked for a Calisay and the darker woman for an Anis. Having collected the two liqueurs from the bar, the Count told them his name was Jaime. His lead confirmed his belief that the red-head was Inez and the dark one said her name was Beatriz.

  Now that de Quesnoy had a chance to look at them closely he saw that Beatriz was by a good bit the older of the two. Her face was very ordinary, with a heavy jowl and a rather bovine but not unpleasant expression. Inez, on the other hand, he decided, would prove distinctly attractive to anyone who liked the gamine type. She had a small freckled face with a retroussé nose, a wide mouth and merry grey eyes. What he could see of her figure was also good and, barely concealed by the fichu of her bodice, two small plump breasts, pushed up by her stays, pouted invitingly. Even so, experience told him that with such small features she might be more amusing but would not be as passionate as her companion, and would certainly prove more hard-boiled.

  For a few minutes they talked platitudes about the weather—how oppressive it was and what a pity that the rain had stopped—then Inez said to him, ‘You are not Spanish, are you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I am British, and in my own country am called James.’

  ‘Are you the master of a ship?’ Beatriz enquired.

  He shook his head. ‘No, only the representative of a Shipping Company. I am out here to make some new arrangements with our agents in Cadiz.’

  They asked him how long he had been in the city, whether he had been to Spain before, if he liked the country, and so on; to all of which questions he made suitable replies. But in every case he addressed his replies to Inez, hardly giving her companion a glance.

  After ten minutes Beatriz took the hint. Finishing her Anis, she said to Inez with good-natured resignation, ‘Well, dear, two’s company and three’s none, as they say; and you’re the lucky one again. Maybe I’ll see you later if the gentleman doesn’t keep you too long. Have a good time, both of you, and thanks for the drink.’

  De Quesnoy did not seek to detain her; but as with a rustle of skirts she stood up to leave them, he said, ‘At least permit me to buy you another Anis to drink while you are waiting for a happy encounter with some old or new friend who may arrive to entertain you.’

  It was a gracious gesture and both girls smiled their appreciation. When she had settled herself in another corner of the room he took the Anis over to her, then he collected from the bar another Calisay for Inez and another brandy and ginger-ale for himself.

  As he sat down again she smiled at him, pouted her mouth, and said the one word: ‘Well?’

  ‘Well?’ he repeated, returning her smile. ‘Do you live far from here?’

  ‘No,’ She winked one of her bright grey eyes, then nodded in the direction of the big man behind the bar. ‘I live in the house, and Señor Anzana makes no objection to my taking gentlemen friends up to my room. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Indeed I would,’ he told her quickly.

  ‘All right then,’ Her grey eyes narrowed a trifle. ‘But you understand I want a nice present.’

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded, ‘that’s only fair. But how much? I’m not a rich man, and the money I brought from England has got to last me out.’

  ‘Thirty pesetas,’ she suggested.

  Knowing her price to be much less, he shook his head. ‘No, I can’t afford more than twenty.’

  She considered for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well then. I wouldn’t, if it weren’t that I like you. You’re different, somehow, to most of the men who come here.’

  ‘I like you too,’ he returned the compliment. ‘You, too, are different from the sort of girls one expects to find in a place like this,’ It was on the tip of his tongue to add, ‘I don’t wonder that licentious young devil, Sanchez, ran off with you!’ but he checked himself in time.

  Standing up, she said, ‘Let’s go upstairs, then,’ Simultaneously he rose and walked the length of the bar with her. A few of the men looked up then hid a smile, but most of them took no notice.

  They crossed under the archway, entered the door on its far side, and Inez led the way up a flight of stairs. At their top she walked down a corridor in which a dim light was burning. Opening the last door but one on the right she turned, smiled at de Quesnoy, and said, ‘Here we are.’

  He followed her in and she lit an oil lamp. On taking a quick look round he was conscious of sharp disappointment. It was a small slip-room, hardly more than a cubbyhole and furnished only with a narrow single bed. It seemed that after all she did not live at the Silver Galleon as La Torcero had supposed, but had only professional accommoation there; and even if she used it at times to sleep in, it was quite clear that Sanchez did not share it with her.

  Turning away from the lamp, she put her arms round his neck, gave him a swift kiss, and asked, ‘Would you like me to undress?’

  ‘I certainly would,’ he told her, as his object now was to play for time during which he hoped to get some useful information out of her.

  ‘It will cost you five pesetas more,’ she warned him.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘You’re pretty enough to be worth it.’

  At that moment there came a loud crash of thunder and heavy drops of rain began to patter on the roof above.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘I must shut the window of the other room.’

  Picking up the lamp, she stepped over to a door that evidently connected the little room with the last one on that side of the corridor. Opening it, she went through and, by the light of the lamp she had taken with her, de Quesnoy had a fair sight of the room beyond. It was considerably larger than the slip-room in which he stood, with a double bed, chairs, a dressing-table and a wardrobe beside which stood a pair of man’s boots.

  At her first mention of another room the Count’s pulses had quickened, and when his glance lit on the boots he felt a thrill of elation. She was living at the Silver Galleon after all, and a man was living with her. He might not be Sanchez but there was a fifty-fifty chance that he was.

  The rain was now streaming down. She had closed the window and picked up the lamp. De Quesnoy’s best hope of learning more before resorting to a direct question lay in making her talk as much as possible. As she came back towards him, he asked:

  ‘Why shouldn’t we use that room? It looks much more comfortable.’

  She gave a quick shake of her small red head. ‘No. That is where I sleep. I share it with my man. For business I always use this room.’

  Frowning, he feigned uneasiness. ‘D’you mean that your husband might come up to that room at any time? If he did h
e would hear and surprise us.’

  ‘You’ve no need to worry, dear,’ she gave an easy laugh. ‘He stays out half the night drinking and arguing with others of his kind at a political club to which he belongs. Even if he did return while I had someone here he knows his own interests better than to make a scene about it.’

  Giving no sign of his satisfaction at this strong indication that her man was Sanchez, de Quesnoy continued to frown, and went on.

  ‘I think you have been very unlucky, Inez, in marrying a man who makes use of you like this.’

  With a quick shrug, she said, ‘He’s not really my husband; but he’s got all those qualities that attract a woman. I may be a fool, but I’m mad about him.’

  The Count threw out a mild sneer. ‘He can’t be much of a man if he lets others have you.’

  It worked. She bridled at once and threw back, ‘Speak only of what you know. If he were in work of course he would keep me. But he is a political and wanted by the police on account of some trouble he got into in Barcelona; so he dare not take a job. As things are, it is only right that I should support him.’

  That, de Quesnoy felt, clinched the matter. Tonight, at last, his luck was really in. There would now be no need for him even to mention Sanchez to Inez, let alone go through another such performance as he had with La Torcera in order to get another lead to Sanchez’ whereabouts. All he had to do was render Inez temporarily helpless and silent to ensure himself a free field. He could then search the bedroom for that damning negative and any prints of it there might be. If he failed to find them he would await Sanchez’ return, hold him up at the point of the revolver and force him to reveal their hiding-place. Whether he found them first or had to wait until Sanchez came back, once he had secured them he meant to march Sanchez off to the police station for speedy despatch to Barcelona so that he could be tried in the coming week with his father and brother.