Vendetta in Spain

by Dennis Wheatley

  At smaller tables to either side and a little in front of the long one two other officers were sitting; one was Lieutenant Navarez, the other—a dark round-faced man of about thirty—de Richleau knew would act as Prosecutor. To the latter’s right and a little behind him Comandante Urgoiti was sitting. At a fourth table, forming a T with the long one at the top, there was another officer with a number of papers and books in front of him. He belonged to the Legal branch and was there to play the part of Clerk of the Court. At the same table there were two N.C.O.s with pens behind their ears. Except for a uniformed policeman and two men who looked like detectives, the benches were empty.

  In the doorway the warder to whom the Duke was handcuffed quickly unlocked the bracelet round his wrist. Both warders stepped aside then went to sit on the bench next to the policeman. Two soldiers with rifles and fixed bayonets took their place one on either side of de Richleau and marched him up to the end of the middle table.

  The Legal Officer asked his name, and he replied in a firm voice, ‘Jean Armand Duplessis, tenth Duke de Richleau. I have been brought here owing to a most iniquitous …’

  He got no further. The officer cut in. ‘Your name is given on the charge sheet as Nicolai Chirikov.’

  ‘That was a nom de guerre used by me only for a few weeks when I was here in 1906, seeking evidence to bring to justice certain anarchists believed to have been concerned in the wedding-day attempt on His Majesty King Alfonso. I arrived here three days ago for a similar purpose. I was received by General Quiroga and spent two nights as his guest. I …’

  The Major, who was acting as the President of the Court, rapped sharply on the table with his gavel and said, ‘The Prisoner seeks to waste the time of the Court. Expunge his remarks from the record and proceed.’

  The few preliminaries were soon over and the charge read out: ‘That the said Nicolai Chirikov, being temporarily employed as a member of the special police, did on the evening of September 10th wilfully kill by shooting Detective-Officer Rodrigo Veragua, who had gone out to the village of San Cugat in his company.’

  To that de Richleau replied, ‘Not Guilty. The man I shot was an anarchist named Rubén Pineda.’

  Urgoiti whispered to the Prosecuting Officer, who rose and said, ‘We shall bring evidence before the Court to show that the murdered man was in fact Rodrigo Veragua.’

  The first witness was called: a frightened-looking old woman who, after a moment, the Duke recognised as the landlady of the pensión at which he had stayed during his first visit to Barcelona. After peering at him she identified him as Nicolai Chirikov; upon which he said:

  ‘I have already admitted to having carried out investigations to the advantage of the State under that name.’

  ‘Silence!’ said the President loudly. ‘The Prisoner will speak only when he is addressed.’

  The second witness was a foxy-looking little man who deposed that during August, 1906, he had been a frequenter of the branch of the Somaten that had premises down by the docks; that he had on several occasions seen the prisoner there and heard him talk with enthusiastic approval of the outrages committed by militant anarchists, and say that he had himself been exiled from Russia for nihilist activities.

  De Richleau let that pass, only thinking grimly that Urgoiti must have spent a very busy night raking up these witnesses against him.

  The third and fourth witnesses were the two detectives. They deposed to having been sent out to San Cugat the previous night at about half past ten. They then described the circumstances in which they had found Veragua’s dead body and the injuries he had sustained. They also stated that they had known the dead man for a number of years as Rodrigo Veragua.

  As Urgoiti would have been certain to choose men of his own kidney to go out to Ferrer’s recent hiding-place, de Richleau felt sure that the two detectives had perjured themselves; but there was nothing he could do about it.

  The next witness to be called was a sandy-haired little man with pince-nez. He proved to be a ballistics expert. The Duke’s automatic was produced and three bullets that had been extracted from Veragua’s body, which he testified had been fired from the weapon.

  The Duke held up his hand. The President nodded. ‘You may speak.’

  ‘Sir,’ said de Richleau firmly, ‘I do not deny that I shot this man, but when I first met him he was an anarchist using the name of Pineda. And my name is not Chirikov. You have only to confront me with General Quiroga and he will order this wicked charge to be withdrawn immediately. He is aware of my true identity and I swear to you that he will vouch for it.’

  The Major looked a little uncertain and whispered to his two colleagues. Hope rose in de Richleau’s breast, but Urgoiti had been murmuring to the Prosecutor. The latter rose to his feet and said,

  ‘May it please the Court, evidence has already been given that the Prisoner is in fact Nicolai Chirikov. I submit that to request His Excellency the Captain-General to leave his urgent duties in order to attend this Court, only to tell it that he has known the Prisoner under another name, would be a most unjustified waste of His Excellency’s time.’

  The three officers who formed the Court again whispered togther. Pale with anxiety the Duke watched them, waiting for their all-important decision. At length it came. The President said:

  ‘The court is satisfied that the Prisoner is the nihilist Chirikov. In the circumstances it would be pointless to request His Excellency the Captain-General to attend and give evidence. Let the case proceed.’

  The Prosecutor was still on his feet. He bowed and again addressed the Court. ‘The Prosecution has shown that Veragua was slain by bullets from the Prisoner’s pistol. It remains only to show that he was on the premises where the murder was committed at the time it took place. Next witness.’

  De Richleau glanced round to the door by which the witnesses entered. To his utter amazement he saw Ferrer walk in. That Urgoiti should have had the audacity to produce him seemed positively staggering. Yet there he was, looking more than his age despite his head of carrot-coloured hair, but his bright intelligent eyes proclaimed that his mind was as active as ever.

  When questioned by the Prosecutor, he told the same story as he had at Police Headquarters the previous night, with only a few embellishments. He lived alone out at San Cugat with only a daily woman who came in to do for him. He had been working in his study when he had heard a window smash at the back of the premises. Fearing robbers who would do him violence he had hidden in a cupboard under the stairs, and so on.

  As de Richleau listened he could hardly believe that he was not dreaming. That Ferrer of all people should be standing there swearing his life away seemed so fantastic that it could not possibly be true. Yet he was horribly aware that he was not suffering from a nightmare; this macabre travesty of justice was actually taking place.

  The moment Ferrer stopped speaking the Duke burst into speech. Pointing an accusing finger at Ferrer he declared with passionate sincerity:

  ‘The witness has told a tissue of lies. He is not the peaceful citizen, Olozaga, that he claims to be. He is Francisco Ferrer, the notorious anarchist. It was he who ran the Escuela Moderna, the school for assassins. He has been responsible for more murders than any man in Barcelona. I demand …’

  ‘Silence!’ roared the President, banging on the table with his gavel. ‘Silence!’

  The Duke ignored him and cried above the din, ‘I demand that General Quiroga be fetched so that I can prove my true identity. I demand that Ferrer, this man who has instigated outrages that have led to the death of hundreds of innocent people, be brought to trial. This Court dare not condemn me. I am here as a result of a conspiracy. Comandante Urgoiti is at the bottom of it. He has hatched this plot to have me shot so that Ferrer may go free.’

  ‘Silence! Silence! Silence!’ shouted the President; and then, ‘If you do not stop this minute, I’ll have you gagged.’

  Breathless and sweating, de Richleau subsided. Ferrer was glancing nervously from
side to side; but the Prosecutor nodded to him and he scurried swiftly back into the room from which he had come.

  After a moment’s hush the President said, ‘Proceed,’ and, standing up, the Prosecutor again addressed the Court.

  ‘I am confident,’ he said, ‘that the Court will disregard these wild accusations. It is obvious that they are no more than a bluff by which the Prisoner hopes to gain a few hours of life by beguiling the Court into an adjournment. But that he is guilty the Court can hardly doubt.’ He then gave a very brief summing-up, ended by demanding the death penalty, and sat down.

  The President made a sign to the Prisoner’s Friend. Navarez stood up, bowed, fingered his little moustache, and said:

  ‘May it please the Court, although I have been nominated as the Prisoner’s Friend, I fear I can make only a poor showing in that rôle. When I interviewed the prisoner earlier this morning he would say little about himself except to make assertions impossible of belief, such as that he was a foreign Duke, a personal friend of His Majesty the King, had been staying in Barcelona as the guest of His Excellency the Captain-General, and so on. It is obvious that he suffers from delusions of grandeur. That would indicate that his mind is unbalanced, and the Court may wish to take his mental state into consideration. Apart from that I can only submit to you the statement he made to me, that he killed Veragua in self-defence; but, unfortunately, of that I can give the Court no proof.’

  Had de Richleau not been so frantically anxious about the fate that might overtake him in the next quarter of an hour, he would have felt outraged by this travesty of a defence; but he had been prepared for something like it and his whole mind was concentrated on wondering if there was even a chance that the Court would agree on a verdict of ‘Guilty, but with extenuating circumstances’. That would have meant imprisonment in the fortress and, given even a few hours, he might yet save his life.

  In accordance with practice at Courtsmartial, the President put the question to the junior member of the Court first. ‘Lieutenant Herrera, do you find the Prisoner guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Guilty,’ replied the youth with the monacle.

  The Duke’s pulses raced. In his mind he saw again the courtyard outside and the lounging soldiers in it. On many occasions in Central America he had seen firing squads execute rebels, saboteurs and spies, and he knew that such executions could vary greatly. If the men ordered to do the job had never carried out an execution before, most of them hated it. They were either filled with pity for the condemned man, or reluctant to accept the guilt of having been a party to killing a fellow human in cold blood; so they either fired over his head, or shut their eyes before pulling the trigger. That meant that the poor wretch up against the wall was rarely killed by the volley. Instead he dropped wounded and screaming, and the officer supervising the execution had to finish him off by putting his pistol to his jerking head and blowing out his brains. But if the men in the squad had had previous experience the majority of them aimed to kill. De Richleau thanked his gods that the men outside must have had ample practice at such work, so at least he could hope for a quick, clean death.

  The President turned to the second senior member of the Court and said, ‘Captain Escalante. Do you find the Prisoner guilty or not guilty?’

  ‘Guilty,’ replied the handsome Captain without a shadow of hesitation.

  The word was hardly out of his mouth before de Richleau exclaimed, ‘Captain Escalante! Is your name Juan?’

  The astonished Captain looked at him and nodded.

  ‘You are, then making your addresses to the Señorita Mercedes, General Quiroga’s daughter.’

  The Captain frowned, but again he nodded.

  ‘Then,’ gasped the Duke, ‘I will tell you something about her that you do not know.’

  In an instant the Captain was on his feet. ‘If you dare …’ he began angrily; but de Richleau cut him short.

  ‘It is nothing to the young lady’s discredit. She is embroidering a pair of velvet bedroom slippers with your initials as a New Year present for you.’

  Urgoiti jumped to his feet and shouted, ‘I protest! This is irrelevant! Yet another pack of lies by the Prisoner in the hope of gaining a respite.’

  The President banged the table with his gavel. ‘Silence! You have no right to address the Court unless asked for your opinion.’

  The Captain, still staring at de Richleau with a puzzled look, muttered, ‘If this is true, how could you possibly know of it?’

  ‘That is my point,’ the Duke was trembling with excitement and the new hope. ‘How could I know it? Only because I have told the Court the truth. For the nights of the 8th and 9th I was a guest in General Quiroga’s home and lived as one of his family. You have only to ask the General and he will tell you that I was that Count de Quesnoy whose wife was killed by the bomb thrown at His Majesty’s wedding procession, and that I have been seeking revenge against the anarchists ever since. You need not even bother the General. Send for the Señora Quiroga, for the Señorita Mercedes, for their butler, for the soldier servant who valeted me while I was a guest in their house. Any or all of them will tell you that I speak the truth.’

  As he paused breathless the three officers constituting the Court exchanged a few quick words. Then the President announced,

  ‘I suspend the Court until further investigations have been made.’

  At that moment there came a loud report. The windows of the room rattled. A spiral of smoke eddied up from just behind the table at which the Prosecutor was sitting. Comandante Urgoiti, realising that it must now emerge that he had known the facts from the beginning, and that ruin, disgrace and death awaited him, had pulled his pistol from its holster and blown out his brains.

  His act gave immediate confirmation of de Richleau’s innocence. The officers present escorted him in a body through the long corridors of the fortress to the General’s office. Quiroga berated them for a set of fools; but the Duke could now afford to be generous. He spoke up for them, saying that they had only been carrying out their duty and had been entirely misled by Urgoiti’s skilful plot. The General then assumed his jovial aspect and invited them all over to his residence, where he ordered up champagne for them to drink a toast to his eleventh-hour escape.

  Señora Quiroga and Mercedes had joined them, and de Richleau asked his host and hostess to do him a great favour. He said that since the bedroom slippers Mercedes was making for Captain Escalante had been the means of saving his life, he begged that they would there and then give their consent to the young couple becoming engaged. Mercedes’ mother hesitated for a moment, but the old General declared heartily that it would make a happy ending to what might so easily have been a terrible tragedy; so consent was given.

  Yet it was not quite the end. After the little celebration was over and the officers had returned to their duties, de Richleau, not having eaten since the previous evening, asked for a light meal. When he had finished it he felt so utterly exhausted from his ghastly ordeal that he went upstairs and threw himself upon his bed. Ten minutes later he was sound asleep.

  At five o’clock the General went up and roused him, to tell him that at midday he had given fresh instructions to the police, who had been busy collecting witnesses all the afternoon, and that he had convened a courtmartial to try Ferrer that evening. Together they walked over to the court room. Evidence was given that Ferrer had played a leading part in fomenting the July revolt, and de Richleau gave evidence about the anarchist’s past activities. He was condemned to death and an order given that the sentence was to be carried out at dawn the following morning.

  As the Duke and Quiroga walked away from the Court room, the General said, ‘You know, that Engineer Officer who acted as Prisoner’s Friend did a better job for him than, from all accounts, young Navarez did for you this morning. Even now we haven’t succeeded in fastening on him any act of violence carried out by himself. And those woolly-minded Liberals love him. They maintain that he stands for free speech and a b
roader form of education. There is going to be Hell to pay when they hear that we’ve shot him. Radical bodies all over Europe are going to raise a tremendous outcry. I wouldn’t be in the Prime Minister’s shoes after Ferrer’s execution has been announced for any decoration His Majesty could give me.’1

  De Richleau shrugged. ‘I don’t give a damn what they say about my part in the matter. I know him for the cold-blooded viper that he is. By having him shot we are preventing him from plotting further outrages that would mean the deaths of hundreds more innocent people. That has been the real issue, and it is the duty of men like us to protect people who cannot protect themselves.’

  That night the Señora Quiroga gave a small dinner party for relations and a few intimate friends, at which the engagement of Mercedes to Captain Juan Escalante was unofficially announced. Afterwards the handsome Captain and Mercedes overwhelmed the Duke with their thanks at having played the part of Fairy Godmother to them, and asked him to be Godfather to their first child. To which Mercedes added that she meant to make him, too, a pair of embroidered bedroom slippers for the New Year.

  Delighted at having brought happiness to the young couple and with blissful thoughts of the happiness he would himself soon find again in Guila’s arms, he went up to bed.

  He had arranged to be called early in the morning and a little before six o’clock he walked through the fortress to the small courtyard where executions were carried out. Soon afterwards, in the grey light of dawn, Ferrer was brought up from the dungeons, blindfolded, and put against the wall. An officer gave the order, a volley shattered the silence, and the anarchist fell riddled with bullets.