The Rape of Venice Read online

  THE RAPE OF VENICE

  Dennis Wheatley

  Edited by Miranda Vaughan Jones

  For

  my good friend

  BOB LUSTY

  Contents

  Introduction

  1 The Shape of Things to Come

  2 The Unexpected Happens

  3 A Very Strange Performance

  4 The Séance

  5 The Duel

  6 The Venetian Strikes Back

  7 Alarms and Excursions

  8 The Great Temptation

  9 The Trials of an Uncle

  10 Clarissa makes her Bed

  11 Death Reaches Out

  12 The Will of Allah

  13 A Bolt from the Blue

  14 A Lie Comes Home to Roost

  15 The Golden Age in Bengal

  16 The Mysterious Elopement

  17 In Desperate Straits

  18 A Tough Nut to Crack

  19 To Cheat the Moon

  20 With Death at the Post

  21 The Wrong Side of the Fence

  22 Within the Enemy’s Gates

  23 Patriot or Spy?

  24 Half an Hour to Live

  25 The Uncrowned King

  26 The Rape of Venice

  27 The Trap is Set

  28 In the Trap

  Epilogue

  A Note on the Author

  Introduction

  Dennis Wheatley was my grandfather. He only had one child, my father Anthony, from his first marriage to Nancy Robinson. Nancy was the youngest in a large family of ten Robinson children and she had a wonderful zest for life and a gaiety about her that I much admired as a boy brought up in the dull Seventies. Thinking about it now, I suspect that I was drawn to a young Ginny Hewett, a similarly bubbly character, and now my wife of 27 years, because she resembled Nancy in many ways.

  As grandparents, Dennis and Nancy were very different. Nancy’s visits would fill the house with laughter and mischievous gossip, while Dennis and his second wife Joan would descend like minor royalty, all children expected to behave. Each held court in their own way but Dennis was the famous one with the famous friends and the famous stories.

  There is something of the fantasist in every storyteller, and most novelists writing thrillers see themselves in their heroes. However, only a handful can claim to have been involved in actual daring-do. Dennis saw action both at the Front, in the First World War, and behind a desk in the Second. His involvement informed his writing and his stories, even those based on historical events, held a notable veracity that only the life-experienced novelist can obtain. I think it was this element that added the important plausibility to his writing. This appealed to his legions of readers who were in that middle ground of fiction, not looking for pure fantasy nor dry fact, but something exciting, extraordinary, possible and even probable.

  There were three key characters that Dennis created over the years: The Duc de Richleau, Gregory Sallust and Roger Brook. The first de Richleau stories were set in the years between the wars, when Dennis had started writing. Many of the Sallust stories were written in the early days of the Second World War, shortly before Dennis joined the Joint Planning Staff inWhitehall, and Brook was cast in the time of the French Revolution, a period that particularly fascinated him.

  He is probably always going to be associated with Black Magic first and foremost, and it’s true that he plugged it hard because sales were always good for those books. However, it’s important to remember that he only wrote elevenBlack Magic novels out of more than sixty bestsellers, and readers were just as keen on his other stories. In fact, invariably when I meet people who ask if there is any connection, they tell me that they read ‘all his books’.

  Dennis had a full and eventful life, even by the standards of the era he grew up in. He was expelled from Dulwich College and sent to a floating navel run school, HMS Worcester. The conditions on this extraordinary ship were Dickensian. He survived it, and briefly enjoyed London at the pinnacle of the Empire before war was declared and the fun ended. That sort of fun would never be seen again.

  He went into business after the First World War, succeeded and failed, and stumbled into writing. It proved to be his calling. Immediate success opened up the opportunity to read and travel, fueling yet more stories and thrilling his growing band of followers.

  He had an extraordinary World War II, being one of the first people to be recruited into the select team which dreamed up the deception plans to cover some of the major events of the war such as Operation Torch, Operation Mincemeat and the D-Day landings. Here he became familiar with not only the people at the very top of the war effort, but also a young Commander Ian Fleming, who was later to write the James Bond novels. There are indeed those who have suggested that Gregory Sallust was one of James Bond’s precursors.

  The aftermath of the war saw Dennis grow in stature and fame. He settled in his beautiful Georgian house in Lymington surrounded by beautiful things. He knew how to live well, perhaps without regard for his health. He hated exercise, smoked, drank and wrote. Today he would have been bullied by wife and children and friends into giving up these habits and changing his lifestyle, but I’m not sure he would have given in. Maybe like me, he would simply find a quiet place.

  Dominic Wheatley, 2013

  1

  The Shape of Things to Come

  ‘Peace, Mr. Brook; peace. It is that the nation needs, and must soon have if we are to escape anarchy and total ruin.’

  The speaker was William Pitt the younger, on a sunny morning in June 1796. He was then only thirty-seven, but looked far older, as for thirteen years he had been Prime Minister to King George III and during them had worked himself to a shadow.

  Tall, thin, worn-looking, and dressed very plainly in grey, only his eyes and autocratic manner indicated the iron will which had enabled him for so long to dominate the political scene and guide the destinies of Britain.

  As he spoke, his sparse fairish hair, now prematurely grey, was ruffled slightly by a gentle breeze, for he was standing on the battlements of Walmer Castle: a residence he sometimes occupied by virtue of his office as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports.

  His companion cut a very different figure. Roger Brook was twenty-eight, and the sight of him would have gladdened any woman’s heart. His deep blue eyes, prominent nose, firm mouth and aggressive chin were indications of the intelligence, resource and resolution which had made him Mr. Pitt’s most successful secret agent during the French Revolution. His slim hips were encased in dove-grey breeches and his broad shoulders in a royal blue coat. These, with a gaily flowered waistcoat and the sparkling jewel in his cravat, were the outward expression of his cheerful nature, while the easy grace with which he carried himself showed him to be unassuming but self-confident.

  The association between the two men had lasted close on ten years; during them Roger had not only sent the Prime Minister secret reports from many countries but he had more than once been vested with Ambassadorial powers and, as a reward for special services, been given the lucrative appointment of Governor of Martinique.

  Like his master, who had become Chancellor of the Exchequer at the age of twenty-three, he had an old head on young shoulders. Mr. Pitt had no secrets from him and gave considerable weight to his opinions, because his long residence abroad had brought him into personal contact with many foreign royalties and statesmen and given him an exceptional knowledge of the policies they were likely to pursue.

  In consequence, he replied with the candour of the privileged: ‘You had best make up your mind to it, Sir, that we’ll get no peace with honour till France is exhausted; and as yet she is far from that.’

  ‘I disagree,’ the Prime Minister retorted sharply. ‘She cannot
support for much longer the burden she has been carrying. It is now over four years since the Monarchist Coalition was formed against her. Having had to wage war for so long, and for most of that time on all her frontiers simultaneously, must have placed an intolerable strain on her resources and her people.’

  ‘No worse than that sustained by Britain when she stood alone against a world in arms during the seven years of war that preceded the Peace of ’83.’

  The situations are not comparable. Our people were then united behind a stable Government and could draw fortitude from their Christian faith. We had great accumulated wealth, the mastery of the seas and, above all the strength inherent in centuries-old traditions of service, orderliness and discipline. France, on the other hand, is still in the throes of the greatest upheaval that has afflicted any nation in modern times. For seven years she has been a prey to anarchy and atheism. Every stabilising factor in the nation has been destroyed, her riches squandered and her commerce ruined. Her collapse is inevitable.’

  Roger shrugged. ‘I regard it as less likely now than it was in ’93; or even this time last year. Look what has happened to your mighty Coalition. Those greedy Prussians gained nothing by transferring their army to the East. Catherine of Russia saw to that. But it does not alter the fact that in the hope of being a bigger share in the final partition of Poland they betrayed us by making a separate peace. Their treachery led to the collapse of Holland, and last summer Spain, too, was compelled to sue for terms. Now, the recent defeats of the Piedmontese have forced sturdy old King Victor Armadeus out of the war. What is there left? Only Austria and ourselves.’

  ‘I know, I know!’ Mr. Pitt waved an impatient hand. ‘The defection or defeat of so many of our allies is most deplorable. But it is not now upon military success that I pin my hopes. It is on France’s internal condition. With the overthrow of the Monarchy her whole taxation structure fell to pieces. Her government of brigands succeeded in carrying on only by forced loans, the wholesale pillage of private property, and the issue of paper currency secured on the lands confiscated from the nobles and the church. The value of these assignats has steadily fallen until now they are scarce worth the paper they are printed on. Armies, even if they are not paid, must be fed, equipped and munitioned if they are to continue fighting, and reports I have received show France’s financial situation to have become positively desperate. It is that which makes me confident that the time cannot be far distant when we shall be able to bring her to terms.’

  From under the long lashes that many a girl had envied, Roger gave his master an uneasy glance. He had a considerable affection and great admiration for him, but was not blinded to his shortcomings by his abilities.

  Beneath the Prime Minister’s haughty manner there lay a kindly disposition and his awkwardness with strangers was due only to shyness. He was a brilliant speaker, an able administrator, and a skilful diplomat; but he hated war and everything to do with it. In consequence, although he showed high courage in the leadership of the nation, his lack of military knowledge and grasp of strategy were severe handicaps in the struggle against France. Moreover, so eager was he for a restoration of peace that he allowed his judgment to be clouded by that desire. On the other hand, in the field of finance he was supreme, and after the last great war had in a few years brought Britain back from near bankruptcy to a marvellous prosperity. It was this which made Roger hesitate to challenge him on his strongest ground. Instead he said:

  ‘May I ask, Sir, if through neutral sources you have recently sounded the French Government on the subject of entering into negotiations?’

  Mr. Pitt was looking across the battlements out to sea. A frown creased his high forehead, and without turning, he replied: ‘I have; and I confess the result was disappointing. Our Austrian allies insist on the return of their Netherland territories. It was with a view to having something to offer in exchange for them that, at a great cost in men and money, I pressed our operations in the West Indies. Despite the furore it would raise in the City, I’d give the French back their rich Sugar Isles if they would agree to evacuate the Low Countries and undertake to cease their subversive activities in others. But it seems that the Directory that now rules the roost in France is not even willing to discuss my proposals.’

  The reply confirmed Roger’s belief that his master was once more a victim of the unfounded optimism that had led him to hope for a speedy peace ever since the fall of Robespierre. As gently as he could he said, ‘Can you be altogether surprised at that? The armies of General Moreau and General Jourdan are more than holding their own upon the Rhine, and all France must be cock-a-hoop at the brilliant successes of the young Corsican General, Buonaparte, these past three months in Italy.’

  ‘I would not be did I not know that France is bankrupt. Her armies are in rags and her cities starving. Military triumphs can temporarily raise the morale of a people, but they cannot be used as a substitute for bread.’

  ‘You must permit me to disagree with you about that,’ Roger said firmly. ‘Do you recall the report on my dealings with General Buonaparte that I submitted to you on my return from France last April?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ Mr. Pitt gave one of his rare smiles. ‘It was largely due to your skilful machinations that Madame de Beauharnais agreed to marry him, and that he was diverted from his assignment to prepare an army for the invasion of England by being given command of the Army of Italy.’

  Roger made a little grimace. ‘It was my knowledge of how ill-prepared we were to resist invasion which led me to take that course; yet more than ever now I have the feeling that it would have been wiser to let him risk destruction in the Channel. It was not of that, though, that I was thinking.’

  ‘I see. You meant to remind me of your assessment of him as the most intelligent and dangerous of all the French generals. It was a shrewd appreciation, since he had never then directed a battle.’

  ‘I had had the advantage of seeing him in the field; for I met him when he was still an unknown Artillery officer.’

  ‘That was at the siege of Toulon, was it not?’

  ‘It was.’ Roger gave a sudden laugh. ‘It might almost be said that we won our spurs together. I got myself into a pretty fix, and as Citizen Representative Breuc was under the necessity of leading French troops in a daylight charge against a Spanish battery. It near cost me my life, but later paid most handsomely; for ever since, the little Corsican has accounted me a gallant fellow and worthy of his friendship. But for that he would never have discussed so frankly with me last February the project for invading England, and offered me a Colonelcy on his staff. There was, though, another project on which he spoke to me with equal frankness, and ’twas to that part of my report that I was hoping to direct your memory.’

  ‘You refer to the Italian campaign. Yes, I remember now. It was his pet hobby-horse and he had long been endeavouring to persuade the Directors to accept his plan for it. No wonder he so readily abandoned all else when given the chance to carry it out himself, and within forty-eight hours of his marriage jumped out of his bride’s bed to gallop off and take up his new command. Well, he has certainly justified your belief in his capabilities; but what of it?’

  Since Roger’s tactful references to his report had failed to ring the right bell in his master’s brain, he felt that he now had no alternative but to speak out and endeavour, once and for all, to shatter his dangerous illusions.

  ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘You have evidently forgotten the salient point that has reference to our conversation. It is my having informed you that General Buonaparte spoke to me of Italy as the treasure-chest of Europe. And he was right. Nowhere in the world is there so much accumulated wealth. We know, too, that the French Republicans have no scruples in plundering unmercifully the cities that their armies overrun, by means of indemnities, forced loans, fines for alleged wrongs, and open looting. I think Buonaparte too big a man, and too confident in his own future, to exact for himself more than he requires for his immediate need
s; but you may be sure that one thing he is set upon is to be allowed the continuance of a free hand in Italy. To ensure that he must keep the good-will of the Directors, and the one way in which he can make certain of doing so is by supplying them with money. I would wager all Lombard Street to a China Orange that during these past few weeks treasure convoys despatched by him have carried many million ducats across the Alps into France. And those ducats will buy the food she needs so badly. Yet worse, there is no reason to suppose that this river of gold will cease to flow until Buonaparte’s victorious advance is halted. Distressed as I am to disabuse you of your hopes, I am convinced that there is not the least foundation for the supposition that France must shortly collapse as the result of an empty Treasury.’

  Mr. Pitt’s grey face had gone a shade greyer. Slowly removing his arm from a stone crenellation on which he had been leaning, he walked over to a painted iron table that had on it a decanter of port and two glasses. Refilling them both he drank from his own, set it down and remarked sourly:

  ‘I have often found you a disconcerting person with whom to discuss foreign affairs, Mr. Brook; but never more so than this morning.’

  Roger, too, took a swig of port, then murmured, ‘I am truly sorry, Sir, but I would serve you ill did I not give you my opinions with complete frankness.’

  ‘That is true’; the Prime Minister laid a friendly hand on his elbow; ‘and believe me, far from resenting it, I am grateful to you. Yet, if you are right, and the rejection by the French Government of my overtures implies that you are, it means that we must resign ourselves to another year or more of war. I would to God I could be certain that the nation will stand up to that.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘You cannot mean it! In the last war we stuck it out for twice the time we have been involved in this, and as a nation we still have all those advantages over the French of which you were speaking a while ago.’

  ‘Alas, there you are quite wrong.’