Duke De Richleau (09): Vendetta in Spain by Wheatley Dennis

Author:Wheatley, Dennis [Wheatley, Dennis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Historical, Novel
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1961-01-16T03:00:00+00:00

13

A strange partnership

La Torcera’s spittle had barely landed on de Quesnoy’s chin when both his hands shot out. They seized her wrists and brought them together with a smack in front of her. A second later he had put into practice a trick that he had taught his troops in North Africa for use when alone with a prisoner whom they suspected had a knife concealed in his robes. With a swift move of his right hand, before she had a chance to pull her wrists apart, he had grasped them both, then with his left hand he imprisoned both her thumbs.

Too late she made a violent effort to pull away from him. She was now as much his prisoner as if with his left hand he had a firm grip on a chain by which she was handcuffed to him; and his right hand was free. His grey eyes were blazing. Lifting his hand, he snarled:

‘You bitch! Had you been a man I would have half-killed you for that.’

Pulling his revolver from under his cloak he jabbed it into her stomach, half-winding her. As she gave a gasp and almost doubled up, he drew it back, held it in front of her face, and snapped:

‘This is loaded. Give one cry and you will never dance again.’

Panting, and with the tears now streaming down her coffee-coloured cheeks, she straightened herself. For a moment they stared at one another in silence, then he said:

‘I came here to speak with Sanchez. Had you not behaved like a fool I would have paid you well for taking me to him. As things are you’ll get no reward but will take me to him just the same.’

‘I can’t,’ she muttered thickly.

He gave a cynical little laugh. ‘D’you expect me to believe that?’

‘Believe it or not, I cannot. He is no longer here.’

‘That we shall see. If he is here, no doubt while strangers are about he will be skulking in your sleeping quarters. You will walk ahead of me and lead me to them. But I warn you, I am a crack shot. Should you attempt to run for it, shout a warning to him as we approach, or play me any other trick, I’ll put a bullet through your ankle.’ With a contemptuous gesture, as he released his hold on her thumbs, he flung her hands away from him.

Without a word she turned and, with her head now held high, set off along the cliff-face. As he followed her, he considered the possibility that she might be telling the truth. If so, he would have had all his trouble for nothing. He had all along been conscious that the evidence for his belief that he would find Sanchez in Granada was very slender. It was based only on the police report that he had taken a ticket to go there when he had fled from Barcelona, and the photograph of La Torcera that he had dropped. She had just admitted that he had been there, but that might have been only to lie low before making his trip to San Sebastian.

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