The White Witch of the South Seas gs-11

by Dennis Wheatley

  Manon paused to light a cigarette. While she did so she recalled vividly the afternoon on which the attack had occurred. Georges had called to her to get from his desk the drops he took to counter such attacks. She had, and had actually given them to him. Then, on a sudden impulse to end matters and regain her freedom, she had snatched the bottle back from him, thrown it out of the window and, with distended eyes, watched him die in agony. For the thousandth time she cursed herself for her folly in not having simply kept the bottle. But that was another matter.

  After a moment she went on: 'Georges' death meant liberation from my prison an end to eight of the best years of my life utterly wasted. But he had left me the greater part of his money, so I was free to leave Algeria and make a home for myself wherever I chose.

  `Naturally, my inclination was to return to Paris, but the idea of living in France as long as it was ruled by that traitor de Gaulle was repugnant to me, and the climate of Paris is horrid in winter. I have always loved the sun; so I decided to settle in Tahiti.

  `At first I lived in an hotel, then I rented a small villa, as I meant to take my time looking for a really pleasant property. But after I had been in the island for six months the situation there rapidly began to deteriorate. Thousands of white Colons from Algeria, who had been dispossessed, were sent out there by de Gaulle. Very few of the poor wretches had any money, so many of them turned to crime and the streets of Papeete became dangerous at night. My own position, as a still wealthy French expatriate from Algeria, became, too, a specially awkward one, because I had quite a number of old friends and acquaintances among thee new arrivals. I helped them as much as I could, but they were constantly borrowing money from me that I knew I should never see back, and I simply could not afford to go on like that.

  `While I was wondering how to get out of this awkward situation, I took a trip to Fiji and fell in love with it. Some of the outer islands are absolutely heavenly, particularly those to the west. I bought one in the Mamanuca Group, and built a house on it. There, now you know all there is to know about me.

  Over lunch they talked on over their respective pasts with so much enjoyment in each other that they both temporarily forgot the shadow that hung over Gregory.

  When they had finished their meal Gregory said, `There is nothing I would like more than to ask you to dine with me tonight; but, unfortunately, I'm committed to dine at the British Embassy!

  Quickly she laid a hand on his. `Don't go. Please don't go. I want you to stay here and lock yourself in your room.'

  He shook his head. `No, I wouldn't like to cry off at the last moment. Our Ambassador learned through Hugo Wellesley that I was in Rio, and he said how much he would like to talk over old times with me. You see, it was not until after the war that he went into the Foreign Service, and during the war he held a post that brought him into contact with many of my own activities. And this is to be a tete a tete dinner; just HE. and myself.

  For some while Manon strove to persuade Gregory to change his mind; but, although he had long been out of the game, he knew, from what Hugo had said, that the Ambassador wanted a private talk with him about the world situation; so he remained firm.

  At length she said with a sigh, `Very well then. But at least let me see you again before you go. We'll go up for our siesta now, but come along to my room about six o'clock. I'll have a bottle of champagne on ice up there and we'll hang the “Don't Disturb” notice outside the door.'

  Gregory needed no telling what she had in mind and, now fortified by an excellent lunch, he smilingly accepted the challenge.

  That evening his session with. Manon matured as he had expected, to their mutual delight. While he was dressing, she again pleaded desperately with him not to go out. But he told her not to worry, as the only risk he could think of was that of being attacked by thugs. As he would be going by taxi, such an occurrence was most unlikely;; and if it did happen, few people were better qualified by long practice than he was to take care of themselves. At a quarter to eight, after a last lingering kiss, he left her to go to his own room to change.

  Nevertheless, having survived so many perils only owing to his lifelong habit of never taking an unnecessary risk, he had been in half a mind to plead sudden illness as an excuse for not keeping his dinner engagement. His resolve not to do so had actually been determined by the fact that death had no terrors for him. On the contrary, as he had always been a convinced believer in survival after death, it held a promise for him of reunion with his beloved Erika. Even so, before he left he took the precaution of slipping a small automatic, with which he always travelled, into his hip pocket.

  At four o'clock that afternoon it had again begun to rain, heavily and persistently. In fact, the downpour was such that, while in the taxi that took him to the Embassy, he could not see through the windows for more than a hundred yards ahead.

  The British Embassy in the Rua Sao Clemente was a fine copy of Georgian architecture. Built in the late forties, it stood well back from the street in a pleasant garden. The lofty, handsomely furnished rooms recalled the more spacious days of the past, but Gregory and the Ambassador dined in a small, well stocked library.

  His Excellency was a genial host and most knowledgeable; so Gregory thoroughly enjoyed an admirable meal and their long talk afterwards about the foreign policies of various nations which had resulted in trouble spots developing in so many parts of the world.

  During the evening H.E, asked Gregory if he was going up to Brasilia.

  `I don't think so,' he replied. `The fantastic buildings in the new capital must be some of the finest examples of modern architecture in the world, but one can appreciate them well enough from photographs and, I gather, there is nothing else to see there!

  'That's true,' the Ambassador agreed. `One must admire the Brazilians for their stupendous effort to show that they are no longer a backward nation, but the huge cost of it has ruined their economy and the city has become a white elephant. The Congressmen and Senators who have to hold their sessions there loathe it and positively fight for places on the planes to get back to Rio every weekend. It has, too, developed into a depressed area. The many thousands of labourers who were sent up there to build it are now mostly unemployed, so the suburbs have become huge shanty towns where poverty is rampant. However, should you change your mind, let me know and I'll furnish you with introductions to the unfortunate members of my staff who are compelled to live there.'

  Soon after midnight a taxi was summoned to take Gregory back to his hotel. The rain was still coming down in torrents. After eight hours of steady downpour the drains were choked and the street, awash well above the pavements, looked like a turbulent river.

  On being told to go to the Copocabana Palace, the driver, in a travesty of English flavoured with an American accent; said he would do his best but could make no promise, as the water was pouring in thousands of gallons down the mountainsides through the city to the sea. But it could not get away there because the tide was rising and blocking the escape of the flood waters. In consequence they would be still deeper near the shore, and Gregory might have to walk the last mile or more.

  As they progressed at only a few miles an hour, Gregory saw that the man had good reason for his pessimism… Every street they entered had abandoned cars in it and when they reached the broad waterfront, two thirds of the way along Botafogo Bay, there were long lines of stationary vehicles left awash by their owners. The water there was knee deep and its height was increasing every moment. The taxi man succeeded in keeping going only by driving his cab up on to and along the pavement.

  A few hundred yards further on they reached a big open space at the southern end of the bay, called the Mourisco. There the taxi should have turned inland in the direction of the tunnel, but it pulled up with a jerk. Turning, the driver made Gregory understand that he dared go no further. At such a slow pace it would take him at least another half hour to reach the Copacabana Palace, and by the time he got back to rectos the Mourisco, th
e water would have risen to a level that would submerge his engine.

  The sight of the floods had at last made Gregory really uneasy. Now, cursing his folly at not having asked H.E. to put him up for the night at the Embassy, he reluctantly got out and paid off the driver. The water was well above his knees and he found it a considerable effort to splash through it.

  Miles of the seafront along Rio 's many bays consist of reclaimed land which has been laid out in long, broad lawns planted with ornamental trees. Some stretches are wider than others and the Mourisco is one of these. It forms a small triangular park with three main streets running into it. The whole of the area was inundated, so no pavements, street islands or flower beds were visible. From between the blocks of buildings, several hundred yards away from where Gregory had left the taxi, the streets, seen only vaguely through pouring rain, had the appearance of rushing rivers. Behind him the flood merged with the sea, so the little park was one great sheet of water, from which rose only the trees and the upper parts of stranded vehicles.

  Being unable to make out any of the paths, Gregory had no option but to head straight across the park in the direction in which he knew the tunnel lay. He had not gone twenty yards before he struck rising ground, so knew that he must be crossing a flower bed. Next moment, as he plunged down its far side, he tripped and fell. As he was already drenched to the skin, that made him no wetter, but he had gulped down a mouthful of evil tasting water.

  Cursing, he picked himself up and stumbled on for a further thirty yards with the water sloshing about his lower thighs. Suddenly the ground seemed to give beneath his feet and he plunged in up to his armpits. He had, walked into a hidden gully. Now using his hands and arms as well as his legs, he thrust himself forward until he had crossed the gully and mounted the far side. Resting for a moment, he drew in a few deep breaths while taking stock of his situation.

  He was only a third of the way across the Mourisco and when he reached the far side he would still have to wade up the street leading to the tunnel. The water should be shallower there. But what when he came out at the far end of the tunnel? The deluge must have flooded the Copacabana waterfront as deeply as it had that of Botafogo Bay, and the promenade was much narrower there. The tide was coming in, but, even so, he might get caught in a current and swept out to sea. After a moment he decided that it would be much safer to take the right hand of the three streets and make his way back to the Embassy.

  Altering his direction slightly, he set off again. Forcing his legs and knees through' the swirling water, and breathing heavily, he ploughed on for another few minutes; then his left foot struck something and with a great splash he measured his length in the water. This time he had caught his foot in one of the low iron hoops that edged the plots of grass.

  As he fell, he felt a fierce pain shoot through his left ankle, and knew that he had either sprained or broken it. When he stumbled to his feet and tried his weight upon it the pain was agonising. Setting his teeth, he struggled a few steps, slipped on the muddy slope of another flower bed and sprawled facedown in another gully.

  Fortunately, it was shallower than the first into which he had stumbled. Squirming round, he was able to sit up with his head still above the water level. Desperately anxious now, he began to shout for help. But no moving vehicle was in sight, nor any pedestrian. Through the half blinding rain he could see the lighted windows in the not far distant buildings. There lay safety. In normal conditions the people in those rooms would have heard him. But the roar of the torrential rain drowned his shouts and the water was still rising. Grimly, he realised that his life now depended upon his ability to bear the atrocious pain in his ankle for another hundred yards until he was close enough to be heard.

  Gritting his teeth, he prepared to make the effort. Then, just as he put his weight on his good foot to stand up, something hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him forward and sideways. As he rolled over and under, whatever it was came to rest across his body. Thrusting his head above

  the surface, he shook the water from his eyes. In the semidarkness he peered at the thing that now pinned him down. It was a long wooden bench that had come adrift from its footings and was being swept out to sea. The bench was made of that heavy timber strangely enough known in Europe as ' Brazil wood' long before the Portuguese had discovered Brazil, but from which the country had taken its name. Strive as he would, Gregory could not lift it from his chest or squirm from beneath it. The water was lapping against his mouth and only by straining his neck could he keep his nostrils an inch or so above the wavelets.

  Up to that moment Gregory had been no more than considerably worried and still confident that, as had been the case so many times in the past, by keeping his head he would find a way out of his dangerous situation. Now he knew that he was trapped with little hope of escape. Faced with imminent death; he endeavoured to resign himself to it by fixing his thoughts on Erika. For a while he lay there gasping and spitting as, every few moments, the water lapped against his mouth and nose. Suddenly, he felt that he could bear it no longer. Animated again by the will to live, he gathered all his strength and made a final effort. It resulted in the heavy bench shifting a little without warning, so that its weight forced back his head. Next moment, his eyes bulging, he was gulping down water. Before he lost consciousness his last grim thought was

  `So that damned Macumba priest was right. I've been doomed to die in a ditch.'

  3 ?A New Interest

  When Gregory opened his eyes he could not for a moment imagine where he was or what had happened to him. He was lying on his back on a surface of hard stone and a man was crouching over him, alternately, with widespread hands, crushing in his lungs and letting up.

  Gulping, he moved his head unhappily from side to side and tried to lift his own hands to defend himself, but could not. Staring up into the face above his own, he was seized for a second with the wild notion that he was in Hell and being attacked by a demon; for, in the uncertain light, his torturer's head seemed twice the size of that of a normal man. Then he became conscious that it was pouring with rain and that he was soaked to the skin.

  With an effort he gasped out, `Stop! For God's sake, stop ' The demon sat back on his haunches and exclaimed, `So you speak English. How fortunate.'

  `Where… where am I?' Gregory wheezed.

  `In the Mourisco, on the Praia de Botafogo. I was making my way back to my hotel when I noticed one of the park benches and decided to rest on it for a few minutes. I found you pinned beneath it and, although you were unconscious, I realised that you could not have been so for long, so I carried you here. We are now a few feet above the water on the base of the statue to Pasteur. I applied artificial respiration and after some minutes you came round. That makes me very happy. Where do you live?'

  ' Copacabana Palace.' Gregory's lungs were working again, but he was very far from recovered and could speak only with difficulty. Struggling into a sitting position he knuckled the water from his eyes. Again he thought he must be dead or dreaming. The man towering above him was huge, and his head, now outlined against the light coming from the nearest buildings, was enormous.

  At that moment his rescuer put a hand beneath his arm and lifted him to his feet. From his left ankle a ghastly pain shot up his leg. In his weakened state it was more than he could bear, and he slid into unconsciousness.

  When he came to, it seemed that he had passed into another phase of his nightmare. He was lying face down, with his head hanging over what felt like an iron bar. His body was balanced on some narrow structure, on either side of which his arms and legs dangled, the latter trailing in water. At a steady pace, he and the contraption on which he lay were being pushed forward. As he stared downwards, the light from a nearby window glinted on curved black metal only a few inches beneath his nose. It was a mudguard and he realised then that he was spread eagled face down on a motor cycle. Even had he been in a fit state to talk, the fact that his throat was resting on the handlebars would ha
ve made it difficult to do so; but memory was seeping back. Rightly, he deduced that, after carrying him some way, the giant who had rescued him had come upon a machine that its owner had not had the strength to push home, and was using it as a means of transport.

  Easing the position of his head from time to time, but still half comatose, Gregory let matters take their course. For what seemed to him an endless time, the machine continued to plough through knee deep water, then it was thrust for some way up a slope on to a pavement, into a glare of light and brought to a halt. As the giant lifted Gregory from it, he saw that they were at the entrance to the Copacabana Palace.

  Now, for the first time, he could see his rescuer clearly. He was a splendid specimen of manhood. Young, good looking, with copper coloured skin, but features more European than native; and from his head, which had appeared so huge in the semi darkness, rose a four inch deep halo of black hair.

  `Then I wasn't dreaming,' Gregory muttered. `You ready are a giant.'

  The other grinned, showing two perfect rows of strong white teeth. `I am six foot five. But that is nothing exceptional in my country. I have a cousin who is six foot seven. It was quite a struggle to get you home, but here we are.'

  'I owe you my life,' Gregory said gravely. `I can never thank you enough. Let's get inside… We could both do with a drink.'

  As he spoke, his companion let go his arm to prop the motor cycle alongside the hotel entrance. No longer supported, Gregory lurched, came down on his injured foot, lost his balance and fell forward, striking his head heavily against the door. Stars and circles flashed before his eyes and he again passed out.

  When he regained consciousness he was up in his room, being undressed by one of the night porters and an under manager. As they got him into bed, he enquired for his rescuer. The under manger shook his head

  "E left without giving 'is name. 'E said only that 'e was sorry about your fall, but 'e did not realise you were so weak. What a fine young man. A South Sea Islander. We do not often see such in Rio. Lie still now, sir, please, for a few minutes. I 'ave telephone the 'otel doctor but the flood makes it impossible for him to come; so I appeal to doctor who is a guest here. An American. 'E is dressing and will be 'ere soon.'