Such Power is Dangerous Read online

  Dennis Wheatley

  SUCH POWER IS DANGEROUS

  To

  J.G.L.

  In memory of an expedition across a marsh and of a thousand hospitalities

  Contents

  Introduction

  PART ONE

  THE WAR IN AMERICA

  1 A Plot to Dominate the World

  2 So this is Hollywood!

  3 The Gathering of the Powers

  4 The Spider’s Web

  5 The ‘Z’ Projector

  6 This Brave (?) New World

  7 The Rival Factions

  8 The Terror in the Night

  9 Who killed Angelo Donelli?

  10 Avril Bamborough faces the Third Degree

  11 The Hand that held the Gun

  12 ‘Shanghaied’

  PART TWO

  HOSTILITIES SPREAD TO EUROPE

  13 The Menace comes to London

  14 How Hinckman dealt with Bamborough

  15 The Midnight Visitor

  16 ‘The Truth Will Out’

  17 The Defeat of Nelson Druce

  18 Police Protection

  19 A Life Sentence

  20 Vitelma Loveday takes a Hand

  21 The Cottage on the Common

  22 The Horror of the Marsh

  23 Ronnie Sheringham cashes in his Writs

  24 The Fight in the Woods

  25 Armistice

  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 in Whitehall, 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 eleven Black 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

  Part One

  The War in America

  1

  A Plot to Dominate the World

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because, my dear Ronnie, having decided to take an interest in the film world I took some little trouble to find out.’ Lord Gavin Fortescue’s austere, lined face broke into the semblance of a smile. There was just a hint of pleased vanity in his quiet voice as he watched the evident surprise of the young man before him.

  Ronnie Sheringham was puzzled. This was by no means the first time in their short acquaintance that Lord Gavin had shown himself possessed of important information about the affairs of people whom he did not know. He voiced his thought as he stretched out a brown hand for the gin sling beside his chair.

  ‘How the devil do you get to know these things—you’ve never met any of these chaps, you haven’t even been outside the hotel since we got to Hollywood.’

  ‘I studied the situation so carefully before I left England that the scraps of information which you furnish often enable me to form much more important conclusions than you might suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I thought as much.’ Ronnie shot a quick glance at the strange little figure in the arm-chair. Lord Gavin Fortescue was not a dwarf, yet he was curiously ill-proportioned; his body frail and childlike, his head massive and powerful with a shock of silver hair. His rat-trap mouth and hard determined chin belied the mildness of his pale blue eyes; those eyes, set wide in the pale face, that could go so cold and soulless on occasions. A man of great charm, great personality, great intellect, but dangerous—oh, how dangerous, thought Ronnie, as he added casually: ‘You would be a bit handicapped without me, though!’

  Lord Gavin smiled, but into his eyes there crept that sudden hardness. ‘It was fortunate,’ he said quietly, ‘that we should have met on the boat and that you should have been coming out to Hollywood to try your luck. As I must of necessity spend a certain portion of my time in the company of anyone who acts on my behalf, I naturally prefer that my agent should possess savoir faire and good breeding—but you can rest assured, my dear Ronnie, that I could have found a hundred people to perform the small services which I require with equal efficiency, if not with your charm of manner!’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve fixed the big boy of Trans-Continental Electric for you—he’ll be here any minute now, it’s near
ly three.’

  ‘And it is your opinion that this man Hinckman will agree to my suggestion?’

  Ronnie ran a hand through his brown wavy hair and nodded quickly, ‘I’d put every writ I’ve got on it!’

  ‘Good—when he arrives you will leave us, of course, he may not be willing to speak freely before a third person.’

  ‘Just as you like.’ Ronnie stood up and stretched himself, he strolled over to the open window and out onto the balcony.

  The fierce sunshine of the early afternoon shone with almost dazzling brilliance on the palm trees and cactus in the hotel garden. Every leaf and spear showed with a distinctness almost startling to the eye—but Ronnie’s strong blue eyes seemed impervious to the glare, he was a true child of the sunshine.

  Others burnt and blistered if they were tempted to brave the Californian beach without due precautions—Ronnie’s sturdy limbs only turned a shade more golden brown. He would love to have spent days on end baking in the heat, lazing about doing nothing—and he would have, had it not been for a question of money. After all, one had to live, and life is usually a problem for the youngest son of a youngest son brought up in the habits and luxury of England’s ruling classes.

  Ronnie was nearly thirty—already his contemporaries at Eton were succeeding to family places, or soundly established as junior partners in big businesses over which their fathers had control—while he was jobless, and his prospects almost nil. Since he had left Oxford he had had a dozen openings, many of them good ones, too. His amazing general knowledge, quick grasp of facts, and great personal charm endeared him immediately to new acquaintances. He won the confidence of elderly magnates with surprising facility, and lured them into offering him positions, but he lost that confidence with almost the same rapidity. He was incurably lazy and detested all routine. Money slipped through his fingers with disconcerting ease, and every few months he would find himself penniless once more. His partners or employers cut their losses, turning him adrift—yet such was his personal charm that they never blamed him and always remained his friends.

  Lord Gavin was admiring Ronnie’s broad shoulders and slim hips. The younger man was not tall, though taller than he looked. The square, broad head and deep chest robbed him of something of his height, yet he was a striking figure in the loose well-cut clothes he always wore. His bright shirts and socks gave him a distinction which would have been vulgarity in any man lacking his flair for clothes.

  Even at his present age Lord Gavin had not completely conquered the bitter envy which filled his heart at the sight of others’ fine physique in comparison with his own puny form. He was watching Ronnie’s back with something of that envy now.

  Ronnie turned suddenly and came into the room. ‘It wasn’t easy to get at Hinckman—he’s got a whole army of secretaries and hangers-on.’

  Lord Gavin smiled. ‘Does that mean that you would like some money on account?’

  ‘Well, I had to weigh out quite a bit.’

  ‘I see—then how much shall we say?’

  Ronnie shrugged, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘Oh, man’s time, you know—I’ve been about a fortnight on the job.’ He was far too clever to name a sum, and his remark had all the delightful casualness which implied an utter indifference to money.

  Lord Gavin drew out his pocket-book. ‘It is expensive here, I know—I trust a thousand dollars will meet the case?’

  ‘Thanks, that’ll do to carry on.’ Ronnie took the note and thrust it into his trouser pocket as if it was of no more interest to him than the coupon in a packet of cigarettes, although actually at that moment he knew his hotel bill was nearly four hundred dollars and his funds were reduced to less than fifty. That’ll be Hinckman, I expect,’ he added, as a sharp rap came on the door of the sitting-room.

  Hinckman it proved to be, a tall, broad-shouldered man of middle age dressed in a neat grey suit. A cigar protruded from the corner of his mouth—a soft hat slightly tilted off his forehead remained upon his head, his movements were abrupt and purposeful, his grey eyes quick with an authority which befitted the man who controlled the destinies of the great Trans-Continental Electric Corporation.

  He nodded to Ronnie and then glanced swiftly at the man he had come to meet. Lord Gavin raised himself to his feet and leaned, a small bent figure, on his stick; it almost seemed that his powerful head was too heavy for his body—his pale eyes were searching his visitor’s face.

  Ronnie Sheringham stepped between them. With a wave of his brown hand he gave a casual introduction. ‘Glad you were able to come, Hinckman—this is Fortescue.’

  ‘Glad to know you.’ Hinckman took Lord Gavin’s small, plump fingers in his own big hand. ‘Our friend here has been telling me quite a piece about you, Lord Fortescue.’

  Lord Gavin gave a little bow, he waved his visitor to a seat and sank back in his arm-chair.

  ‘I have been anxious to meet you for some time, Mr. Hinckman, and I know you to be a very busy man. I am most sensible of the honour you do to me in coming here, and I feel confident that I shall not waste your valuable time.’

  ‘Is that so? Waal, it’s mighty unusual fer me to go around seein’ folks on business—they come to me, but I’m told you figure to go into motion pictures in a big way and I’m a business man.’ With a flick of his tongue Hinckman transferred his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.

  ‘Well, so long chaps.… I’ve got a date at the Plaza.’ With an airy wave of the hand Ronnie picked up his hat and left them.

  Lord Gavin leaned forward. He spoke clearly and impressively, his voice was soft and musical, he never raised it in any circumstances—yet his orders were always instantly obeyed; at times that very softness gave it a peculiarly sinister quality.

  ‘I will not waste your time, Mr. Hinckman, by beating about the bush. I have, in the last few months, gone very thoroughly into the present state of the film industry in America, England, and Germany. Many of the smaller concerns are definitely in financial difficulties—even the biggest are finding it no easy matter to continue the enormous outlay necessary to support their chains of theatres and pay their stars during this period of world depression. I have come to the conclusion that conditions at the present time offer a remarkably favourable opportunity for the formation of a combine which will control the film industry of the entire world.’

  Hinckman, who had been listening attentively, gave a sudden guffaw of laughter. ‘Say now,’ he protested, ‘you can’t be serious?’

  ‘I am—perfectly serious.’

  ‘Then you certainly don’t know what you’re up against—the motion picture business is no pop-corn industry that you can corner with a few thousand grand.’

  ‘I think I have already mentioned, Mr. Hinckman, that I have given very considerable thought to the problem. I am conversant with the affairs of the principal companies, their share capital, their assets, their liabilities, their directorates, and contracts with producers or famous stars. I will confine myself for the moment to a frank enquiry as to how you would view such a combine suggesting that it was possible to carry it into effect?’

  The American spread out his knobbly hands. ‘I’ll certainly say it’s a great idea; in fact, before the business became so immense I had views that way myself, but in those days I weren’t in the same position I occupy today.’

  ‘Exactly, but you agree in theory—providing that you were the active head of such a concern?’

  ‘Sure. Look at the money we’d save if we could eliminate competition. Stars’ and directors’ salaries could be cut in half! We could fix our own terms if there was no rival outfit for them to go to—though stars would still have to have big money, must have—to keep them in the public eye. Don’t matter what trash you give the public—they pay to see the star. We’d all be finished if we scrapped the star system—all the same, we’d save big money!’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ Lord Gavin nodded slowly. ‘Moreover, a combine would smash all the smaller concerns, and by
concentrating their studios and offices would save a huge figure in overheads.’

  ‘Right again. They’d be able to fix the exhibitor, too—he wouldn’t be able to get no films from other corporations. I figure he’d become a sort of agent only—the Combine would make the big profits here, there, and all the time, with a guaranteed market for every production.’

  ‘Entirely my view, Mr. Hinckman. The wealth and power of such an organisation would be almost beyond the limits of imagination.’

  ‘It certainly would, but as far as I can see imagination’s just about as far as it will get, Lord Fortescue—there ain’t no practical way to set about it—unless you happen to have found another King Solomon’s Mine!’

  ‘Hardly that—but I am fortunate in having a very considerable sum at my disposal. You see, I have been concerned in transactions—not perhaps on quite such a vast scale—but of a similar nature, on previous occasions, and a certain European syndicate which has benefited by my abilities before is prepared to back me in this present venture.’

  Hinckman looked doubtful. ‘It ’ud need the Bank of England and then some to buy up the motion picture business.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Lord Gavin smiled. ‘I think I am correct in saying that you control Trans-Continental Electric, but you certainly do not own all the shares. It should be possible to purchase blocks of shares, options, and the goodwill of influential persons in hostile companies for a comparatively small amount compared to the actual capital of those companies. By such means control could be secured during a period long enough for us to effect our coup.’

  ‘It’s a mighty big proposition—let’s hear how you figure to set about it?’ Hinckman sat forward with sudden interest, his hard grey eyes fixed on Lord Gavin’s pale face.

  For thirty years he had striven with relentless energy for power and position. From a penniless lad in a Western Mining Camp he had risen to the control of the greatest film company in the world; but these last few years he had been dissatisfied. It seemed that he could go no farther—and now this small, quiet man before him was opening up new vistas to satiate his inordinate ambition.