Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 03 by The Golden Spaniard

Author:The Golden Spaniard [Spaniard, The Golden]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-01-24T08:14:41+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one – Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire

To Richard the restaurant proprietor was only vaguely familiar but De Richleau knew him at once as a waiter called Luis. For a year or two after the war he had been a sous chef at the Spanish Restaurant in London at the time King Alfonso’s visits had made it so deservedly popular. Later, he had been a floor waiter at the Ritz in Madrid and had served the Duke on his last visit to the Spanish capital. That was six years before, but it is part of a waiter’s stock-in-trade to have a long memory for names and faces.

“A Duke! A Duke!” the crowd were crying. “Fulchio’s right. They’re spies—aristos. Leave ’em to us and we’ll deal with them.”

“Silence!” shouted the Guardia Sergeant, and turning to the Duke, “What have you to say?”

“This man’s mistaken,” said De Richleau firmly. “I am a servant—an interpreter—and my name is Dubois.”

“Oh, no, it’s not!” said the ex-waiter with equal firmness. “You’re the Duke de Richleau all right. Cantaloup melon for breakfast at ten pesetas a go. That’s your mark. And truffles cooked in champagne for supper. Remember?” He suddenly broke into a facetious imitation of the Spanish equivalent of the Oxford accent, “Waitah, give Madame some more caviah Waitah, no restaurant worthy of the name ever serves cold lobstah with capahs in the heads. A disgustin’ habit.”

A howl of laughter went up and the excited crowd pressed in upon De Richleau until the police forced them back.

The Sergeant looked at Lucretia-José. “Comrade, what do you know of these men?”

“I know them as Comrades Eaton and Dubois, visitors to Madrid, from two friendly democratic nations.”

“Not good enough!” he said shortly. “They’ve deceived you and been using these C.N.T. cards to fool other people. They’re hand in glove with the Rebels to upset the Government I’m arresting them for using false papers with the object of promoting treason.”

There was nothing to be done, absolutely nothing. De Richleau and Richard could only thank their stars that Lucretia had got them out of Fulchio’s hands. Yet in one sense they were out of the frying-pan into the fire. It was conceivable that they might have ransomed themselves from Fulchio since the large sum they had on them in bank notes was sufficient earnest that they were good for a further very considerable payment, whereas there was no hope of their being able ransom themselves from a State prison. Moreover, the very worst thing that could conceivably happen to them had happened. Their identities as members of the old ruling caste was now known. Even Simon might not be able to protect them in view of the damning discovery that the Duke had been carrying a faked passport and that both of them had been in possession of forged C.N.T. Party cards with arms permits to match.

They were marched back to the Gran Via. After some delay a police patrol wagon arrived. By way of good-bye Fulchio and various members of the crowd spat in their faces as they entered it—handcuffed.

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