What would you do if you had ten tons of gold, enough to pay a Regular Army of 150,000 officers and men for half a year, lying in a private bank where you feared Communists would seize it? That is the problem which faced the brave and beautiful millionairess, Lucretia-José de Cordoba y Coralles, when Revolution threatened Spain.
Those modern Musketeers, the Duke de Richleau, Simon Aron, Richard Eaton and Rex Van Ryn, made famous in the pages of “THE FORBIDDEN TERRITORY” and “THE DEVIL RIDES OUT”, became involved in the struggle for the possession of this great fortune.
From early July, when the Military Revolt was still being planned, through the wild excitement and confusion of the early weeks of the Outbreak, up to December when Madrid was in a state of siege, we follow these remarkable men. Again and again they hazard their lives in desperate plot and counter-plot while the adorable Princess Marie-Lou waits in her yacht off the coast of Spain to aid their “Scarlet Pimpernel” activities.
The tale moves from lesser thrills to breathless suspense and finally a superb climax. The Fiction Editor of one of our greatest national dailies said of Wheatley: “He is the most successful adventure writer of our time.” and this great romance of Lucretia-José and her millions is undoubtedly one of the finest stories he has ever done.
Dennis Wheatley’s Work is also published in:
THE UNITED STATES
FRANCE
GERMANY
ITALY
SWEDEN
HOLLAND
SPAIN
HUNGARY
POLAND
DENMARK
FINLAND
PORTUGAL
NORWAY
ROUMANIA
BRAZIL
RUSSIAN CZECH SERBIAN ARMENIAN
and ARABIC
The titles of his books are:
FICTION
Uncharted Seas
The Forbidden Territory
The Devil Rides Out
The Eunuch of Stamboul
The Secret War
The Fabulous Valley
Black August
Contraband
Such Power is Dangerous
They Found Atlantis
HISTORICAL
A Private Life of Charles II (Old Rowley)
Illustrated by Frank C. Papé
Red Eagle (Illustrated)
(The Story of the Russian Revolution and of Marshal Voroshilov)
CRIME DOSSIERS WITH J. G. LINKS
Murder Off Miami
Who Killed Robert Prentice?
The Malinsay Massacre
In Preparation
The Accursed Quest
DENNIS WHEATLEY
THE GOLDEN SPANIARD
A Novel
18th Thousand
HUTCHINSON & CO.
LONDON
MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
AT GAINSBOROUGH PRESS, ST. ALBANS
BY FISHER, KNIGHT AND CO., LTD.
FOR MY GOLDEN STEPDAUGHTER
DIANA YOUNGER
A dear and joyous companion who brings
the blessing of much laughter to our
house and who is even more beautiful
than the picture of the Golden Spaniard
which she painted with such talent for
the dust cover of this book.
THE GOLDEN SPANIARD
Chapter One – A Debt of Honour
Chapter Two – The Duke has a Very Queer Experience
Chapter Three – A Most Unexpected Encounter
Chapter Four – The Most Dangerous Woman in Europe
Chapter Five – The Other Side of the Picture
Chapter Six – The First Round
Chapter Seven – The Duke Makes Soup, but not for Supper.
Chapter Eight – Don Lluis Turns Burglar
Chapter Nine – The Succession of Culs de Sac
Chapter Ten – Death in Madrid
Chapter Eleven – The Price of Secrecy
Chapter Twelve – The Storm Breaks
Chapter Thirteen – The Miracle
Chapter Fourteen – Lady in Distress
Chapter Fifteen – Night of Horror
Chapter Sixteen – When Greek Meets Greek
Chapter Seventeen- Escape to Trouble
Chapter Eighteen – The Militiaman’s Bride
Chapter Nineteen – Back into the Maelstrom
Chapter Twenty – Just Sheer Bad Luck
Chapter Twenty-one – Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire
Chapter Twenty-two – Out of the Fire Into the Boiling Oil
Chapter Twenty-three – The Blood Bath of Madrid
Chapter Twenty-four – The House of Mental Death
Chapter Twenty-five – The Scarlet Pimpernel of the Spanish Revolution
Chapter Twenty-six – De Richleau Speaks of Other Things than War
Chapter Twenty-seven – The Cat Jumps out of the Bag
Chapter Twenty-eight – The Treasure Hunt Begins
Chapter Twenty-nine – Armistice for Two
Chapter Thirty – The Break for Home
Chapter Thirty-one – Plot and Counter Plot
Chapter Thirty-two – Dark Stars in the Ascendant
Chapter Thirty-three – One Must Die
Chapter Thirty-four – Simon Aron goes to War
Chapter Thirty-five – Who Goes Home?
THE GOLDEN SPANIARD
Chapter One – A Debt of Honour
The Duc de Richleau exhaled the first cloud of fragrant smoke from one of the Hoyo de Monterreys which were his especial pride and dismissed his servant with a nod. “You may go, Max. On no account are we to be disturbed.”
The girl, who was the only other occupant of the beautifully appointed little dining-room in the Duke’s Mayfair flat, raised one tapering eyebrow in humorous interrogation.
De Richleau smiled and shook his head. “A charming compliment, Condesa, but I am old enough to be your grandfather —almost.”
She knew his statement to be true yet marvelled that a man of his years should retain such a splendidly virile appearance. His age showed only in the lines that time had etched on his lean, handsome features and the grey hair which swept back from his magnificent forehead. Many a young man would have envied him his wiry figure and the grey eyes which regarded her with such piercing brilliance from beneath slanting, ‘devil’s’ eyebrows.
He waved the lighted end of the long cigar with a graceful sweep beneath his aquiline nose so that he might savour its aroma and went on softly, “When an attractive young woman rings up an elderly man she has not seen since childhood, accepts a luncheon invitation, but suggests that her host shall entertain her at home—and alone—it’s obvious that she wishes to discuss something highly private. Tell me, Lucretia-José de Cordoba y Coralles, in what way can I be of service to the daughter of my old friend?”
“You have been in Spain recently, Duke?”
“Not since King Alfonso left it.”
“That’s over five years ago. Much has happened in the interval. S. M. el Rey withdrew, as you must know, not from any weakness but in the spirit of the highest self-sacrifice. He hoped that by doing so he would save his country from being deluged in the blood of a civil war.”
De Richleau’s eyes narrowed a little. “Certain shrewd observers appear to think that his going only postponed the evil day until—well—any time now.”
The whole being of the girl opposite him seemed to change. She was, perhaps, twenty-five and only remarkable at the first glance in that her golden hair combined with markedly Spanish features gave her a most unusual type of beauty. Throughout lunch she had made the usual small-talk of her class, and no one
would have suspected that she had a thought in her head outside clothes, social engagements, and her latest love-affair. Now, her whole figure tensed. Her fine grey eyes went blank but her jutting chin and the set line of her red mouth gave her an expression of extraordinary strength and determination. De Richleau suddenly realized that his dead friend’s daughter had grown into a fascinating and extremely dangerous woman.
His old heart warmed within him as she asked, “Just how much do you know?”
“Nothing,” he lied amiably. “Only the gossip of the clubs, which leads one to believe that all is not well with Spain.”
“You do know something then. That makes things ever so much easier. I take it I can speak freely to you as one who’ll be with us when the clash occurs?”
De Richleau smiled. “Need you ask, Condesa? Don Alfonso has honoured me with his friendship for thirty years and I have similar ties with many of your leading families. However, as a naturalized Englishman, apart from my sympathy for my personal friends, the affairs of Spain are no concern of mine.”
“That is untrue. If the classes must fight it will be the concern of every man and woman who believes in justice and freedom and decency that the right side should win. If the Reds get the upper hand in Spain this summer they’ll get it in France next and the rest of the world—even your self-satisfied England—will follow.”
“There may be something in what you say but perhaps you would care to tell me a little about how things stand at the moment.”
For a good five minutes Lucretia-José spoke clearly and rapidly of the complicated political situation in Spain. Suddenly she rapped the table with her clenched fist. “I speak of what I know! The Extremists have been smuggling in arms for months. They intend to seize power by force knowing that the present Government hasn’t the strength to resist them. Every property-owner, every officer, every devout Catholic in Spain will be massacred this summer unless measures are taken to prevent it.”
“These measures, of course, are already being taken?” the Duke suggested smoothly.
“Yes. Our only chance is to act before they do.”
“In whose name, the King’s?”
“No. I wish from my heart that it could be so but at the moment such a move would not be practical. The Army chiefs have agreed to suppress all opposition and appoint Calvo Sotelo as Dictator.”
“An admirable choice,” agreed De Richleau thoughtfully. “As a civilian he’ll secure much greater backing from the man in the street than any General could hope for. However, interested as I am and greatly as I value your confidences, Condesa, I do not yet see your object in making them to me.”
Lucretia-José smiled enigmatically. “As you probably know, my father was the principal shareholder in the Banco Coralles of Madrid. It has always been a family affair like the old Coutts or Martins over here. Since his death last year I have inherited his holdings.”
“Then you are fortunate indeed.”
“Most people would think so, but my father was a great Royalist. From the time S. M. el Rey went into exile our palace in Madrid and our many other properties have remained closed. As I was educated in England I have not entered any of them since I was a child.”
De Richleau’s firm, slightly cynical mouth softened a little as he said gently, “I too have known what it is to be an exile.”
She shrugged. “Fortunately I have my work. Father was always convinced that, in time, there would be a restoration. As he had no son he added his own name of José to mine when my mother died and looked to me, as the last of the Cordoba y Coralles, to do my share in bringing it about.”
“It’s to be hoped that these—er—measures that you speak of will soon enable you to take your rightful place in Spain again.”
“Thank you, Duke. But in the meantime I have to provide adequate protection for the 82,000,000 pesetas gold reserve which I have lying in bullion in the vaults of my bank in Madrid.”
“Eighty-two million!” repeated the Duke. “That really is a tidy little sum.”
“It is enough to pay the entire army of Spain, officers and men, for six months, or to purchase an Armada of aeroplanes from a neutral country, in the event of civil war.”
“I see, and you wish to use it for some such purpose?”
“I hope that won’t be necessary. If the risings planned to take place in every garrison town are properly synchronized the affair should be over quickly and there will be very little bloodshed. The danger is that certain Generals may delay to see how their bolder colleagues get on before taking action. If that occurred in Madrid and the tables were turned on them, the Reds’ first action would be to confiscate all the gold in the banks. My fortune might then be used to purchase the means of destroying my hopes and my dearest friends.”
“And how do you propose to guard against this unpleasant contingency?”
“Quite simply,” Lucretia-José smiled, and when she smiled she was very beautiful indeed. “I intend to make over my entire holding to someone I can trust and that person is going to be an Englishman. No Government, Pink, Red or Purple will dare to risk falling foul of Great Britain by seizing eighty-two million pesetas which is the property of a British subject.”
De Richleau sat bolt upright in his chair. “My dear Condesa, I hope—er—” he floundered suddenly, for once in his life caught napping; “I sincerely trust you have no thought of doing me this honour.”
Lucretia laughed outright at his consternation and nodded firmly.
“Of course. That’s just what I mean to do. I’ve brought all the documents with me already signed and witnessed. I’m afraid it’ll mean your paying a visit to Madrid and remaining there until the trouble is over. You must be on the spot to protest against any attempt at confiscation. But I know you will do me this great service in memory of my father.”
“No, no!” the Duke protested. “I beg you not to ask it of me. I know little of finance. I should be certain to fall foul of the Jacks-in-office. If there is a revolution I should probably start shooting Bolsheviks and get hanged to a lamppost for my pains. I am too old for such excitements; much too old. And why, in Heaven’s name, should your choice fall on me—when we hardly know each other?”
Lucretia’s grey eyes grew grave again. “For two excellent reasons. In the first place, my father has often told me that you are utterly fearless, as cunning as a serpent, as ruthless as Fate and to be trusted without limit.”
“I’ve never been trusted with millions in pennies, let alone millions in pounds, before,” grunted the Duke with a glint of humour in his eye. “Go on, young woman, let’s hear your other reason.”
“That this is not a one-man job. Failing all else they might attempt to make away with you hoping that on your death the bullion would revert to me. You must sign blank transfers to another Englishman you can trust implicitly, and it would be better still if there were a third at hand who could take over from him if it became necessary.”
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed De Richleau, “I see it all. Some time or other your father must have spun you some silly fairy-tale based on a little trouble I and some of my friends got ourselves into a few years ago in Soviet Russia.”
“Exactly! But it was no fairy-tale. It was the story of three heroic men who ventured into the very heart of the Forbidden Territory to save a fourth who was their friend; of how they rescued him and, with all the vast resources of the Kremlin pitted against them, fought their way back until they crossed a friendly frontier. It was you who led them and it is to you that I appeal—”
“No!” the Duke thrust back his chair and stood up. “No, I flatly refuse to involve my friends in this dangerous business.”
Lucretia jumped to her feet and slipping round the table seized his hands. “But, Duke, I beg you to! Find them! Find them! Take them with you to Madrid. This gold may mean the very life or death of Spain. Please! Please call those wonderful men to your side once more. They won’t refuse you when they know how much there is at stake.”
“It’s not for me,” her voice was low, imploring. “It’s for the thousands of decent people who can’t help themselves but have got to be protected somehow from mass shootings and every sort of horror. The Coralles fortune may prove much more than a pawn in the game. In the name of my father who used to say he loved you as a brother, I ask you to keep it out of evil hands.”
The Duke thrust her away from him and in an endeavour to combat the sentiment of her appeal spoke with sharp formality. “Condesa, I have never allowed my emotion to get the better of my common sense. I regret, but it is impossible for me to serve you in this matter.”
“So!” she stepped back and, snatching up a balloon brandy glass, flung it down on the table where it shattered into a thousand fragments. “All right then! I must remind you that you owe your life to my father’s good will. As his heir I now claim that life in so far as you may risk it in going to Spain on my behalf. If you have any pretence to being a man of honour you will fulfil your obligation.”
For a moment there was utter silence in the quiet room, the passion had died out of Lucretia’s eyes, which were now cast down. She stared with faint but growing embarrassment at some scattered fragments of the goblet she had smashed. Suddenly she heard a faint chuckle and, looking up, saw with amazement that De Richleau was laughing at her.
“You win, Condesa,” he murmured with an elegant little bow. “I will collect those two unattached friends of mine and we will take a little trip to Spain.”
Chapter Two – The Duke has a Very Queer Experience
Lucretia-José Condesa de Cordoba y Coralles had gone, leaving De Richleau the virtual owner of her millions. The papers she had deposited with him were all in order. They included letters of introduction to her representatives in Madrid and even a complete set of blank transfers already drawn up so that he could pass on the trust merely by signing them and writing in the name of one of his friends.
Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 03 Page 1
