Devil to Pay (34 page)

At that moment the coach stopped and the flag lieutenant looked out to see what the trouble was. There was a coach at the road junction ahead of them, blocking the highway. As there seemed to be some sort of dispute in progress the flag lieutenant resolved to investigate. “With your leave, sir,” he said to the admiral. “I'll ask the coachman why he has stopped.”

Pedro de Lares walked forward, learning no more from the coachman than that an arrest was being made. There were two other coaches following that in which the admiral was travelling and a troop of cavalry behind the rear one. Captain Garcia, the escort commander, rode forward at the same time. He and de Lares were surprised to see a French army officer struggling in the grip of two Spanish soldiers.

“How dare you arrest me?” roared the Frenchman. “Take your dirty hands off me!”

“You are arrested, Señor, because you have not paid your bill at the Paradas Inn. I am to take you back there for questioning.”

“Damn your impudence! I broke the journey there because there was no inn on the main road. I paid the bill and am on my way to Madrid on official business. Stop me at your peril!”

The shouting match continued in a mixture of French and Spanish, the Frenchman demanding his release, the Spaniard merely repeating that he was only obeying orders. The flag lieutenant finally intervened by asking the Frenchman to give his name.

“I am Jean Pelletier,” he replied, “captain in the Army of the French Republic but recently serving at sea under Admiral Richery as marine officer of the
Intrepide.
I am on my way to the French Embassy at Madrid.” Pedro de Lares asked one or two more questions and then reported to the admiral that a French marine officer was under arrest for failure to pay his bill. He claimed, however, to have paid it in full.

“We cannot leave him in prison,” said the admiral. “The French are our allies and this sort of affair might have the worst possible results. It could become an international incident! Tell Captain Garcia to deal with these people, using force if necessary.”

“I suggested that to Captain Garcia but he was reluctant to act in that way. He would rather you accompanied Captain Pelletier to Paradas. He thinks that your influence should be sufficient to secure this officer's release and that to use force at this stage would put us in the wrong. He thinks that some mistake has been made and that a word with the mayor will clear up the misunderstanding. Paradas is only a short distance off the main road—it is almost in sight.”

“A few minutes ago,” said the admiral, “I should have said that nothing—but
nothing
—would have kept me from reaching Cadiz by the shortest route. A task of great importance awaits me at the dockyard. My technical knowledge is needed and I must clearly be there as soon as possible. But if there is one appeal I cannot ignore it is this— the appeal of a brother officer and an ally, unjustly accused and in danger of imprisonment. It may well be that I am destined for higher command. When I hoist my flag I want it to be known that I expect loyalty but that I too am loyal to those who serve under my command. If a man falls overboard I am not the one to make all sail. No! I'll back my topsails and lower a boat. That is what I shall do now. Tell this police officer from Paradas to go back there, taking his prisoner. Tell Captain Garcia to lead the way with his troop—a show of force may be useful. As for me, I shall see the mayor and show him where his duty lies.”

Before these orders could be obeyed the Spanish army officer, the man responsible for making the arrest, came up to the admiral's coach and apologized for all the trouble he had caused. He was only obeying orders and could well imagine that a mistake might have been made. He hoped that the whole matter would be cleared up within the next hour. To this the admiral responded politely and then the Spanish army officer came up with a useful suggestion. Since the admiral was to be in Paradas for only an hour—and possibly less—there was surely no need for his other two coaches to leave the main road. If they went on slowly to Utrera they would be there, with luggage unpacked, when the admiral arrived. The horses would be less tired, moreover, and the inn would have time to prepare for the admiral's reception. Admiral de Grado accepted this common sense suggestion immediately, being assured that the main road at this point was perfectly safe and well patrolled. The result was that Captain Pelletier's coach turned back towards Paradas, guarded by the Spanish officer and his orderly, both on horseback, and preceded by Captain Garcia's troop of cavalry. The admiral's coach brought up the rear of the column. The other two coaches, one for the servants and one for the luggage, remained on the main road and presently went on towards Utrera. They might expect to be there in about two hours.

The main cavalcade, going by the minor road, crossed a wooden bridge over a deep ravine and, breasting the slope on the far side, were soon in sight of Paradas. It was at this point that the Spanish army officer's orderly found that his cloak, rolled up behind the saddle, had dropped off. He was told to go back and fetch it and went back accordingly at a canter. The cavalcade went on to Paradas and stopped outside the inn, only to discover that there had indeed been a mistake. The French officer's bill
had
been paid. The landlord had no complaint against anyone. The Spanish officer was confused and apologetic. He had misread the name as written in the order he had received—he could see now that the name was Pelissier. He expressed his abject apologies to all who had been inconvenienced, and especially to the admiral. His recent prisoner could afford to be generous and agreed that the name in the order, which he was allowed to examine,
did
look like Pelletier. He and his captor entered the inn to ask whether an officer called Pelissier had been seen there. Neither the admiral nor Captain Garcia saw them again for the immediate discussion—in the course of which the admiral was told of the mistake—was interrupted by the sound of a distant explosion. It came from the direction of the road— the only road—by which Paradas can be reached. Garcia sent a couple of troopers to investigate. They were back again in half an hour, reporting that the wooden bridge had been blown up. Completely bewildered, the admiral asked Garcia, “Why to God should anyone do that?” The cavalryman was equally at a loss:

“Why indeed?” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“What on earth had the criminals to
gain?”
the admiral persisted.

“I can't imagine, sir—unless it was
time
. . . .”

Meanwhile, the two coaches, the first with the servants and the second with the luggage, went on to Utrera. They came into a town which had a good deal of traffic in its narrow and twisting streets. As might so easily happen in such a place, a laden cart came to separate the two coaches and then stopped dead, allowing the first to vanish round the next bend on the road. The two men on the second carriage, the coachman and his second driver, swore at the owner of the cart, who seemed to be drunk, but could find no way to pass the obstacle. They were rescued, providentially, by an army officer who appeared from nowhere, climbed up beside the driver and pointed in a peremptory way to a turning on the left. The driver readily supposed that this lane would bring them round to the Seville road, where the other coach would probably be waiting. Far from doing that, however, the lane wandered on through a poor quarter of the town and gave out, finally, in a silent and lifeless cul-de-sac. Their guide was crestfallen and apologetic, having obviously taken the wrong turning. In the deserted lane where they found themselves there was nobody to question and the best policy was probably to go back the way they had come. Another man suddenly appeared, however, and the coachman leaned from the box to ask him the way. The stranger thereupon hit him over the head with a sand-filled stocking. He tumbled into the roadway, where he was instantly joined by the equally unconscious figure of his companion who had been similarly maltreated by the officer who had proved so bad a guide. The two men were still there and motionless when the coach drove off with their two assailants on board.

“Drive on!” snapped Delancey to Hodder after the coach had been turned around. It soon left the town behind and jolted down the minor road which led to a point in the outskirts where Bisson, now sober, jumped on board. The coach presently reached the main road and there was heard soon afterwards the sound which Delancey had dreaded—the distant note of a cavalry trumpet. With horses tired at the end of a long day there could be no question of escape. On a straight road crossing a featureless level there was no hope of concealment. The horsemen could already be glimpsed as a tiny and moving dust cloud. Something had gone wrong finally on a day when everything had seemed to go well. Had that coachman come to life again and called for help, describing his assailants and guessing somehow which way they had gone? Had there been time for that? Or had the admiral seen through the whole plot and turned back short of the bridge which led to Paradas? The one thing certain was that the criminals in this case, he and his men, would never be treated as prisoners of war. They would be lucky to be shot, not hanged. And what a way to die, within a few miles of safety! Looking back along the road, Delancey could now distinguish the horsemen and hear, from afar, the drumming of the hooves. Should he, Bisson and Hodder make a fight of it? What was the point? There must be twenty troopers at least. Would any object be served by killing three of them? None that he could see. Following a sudden inspiration Delancey told Hodder to turn the coach round. It might just possibly save them. Now he could distinguish the uniforms, the faces, the officer in the lead, the trumpeter behind him. They came nearer and nearer. . . . What had Colonel Altamirano said? “If death came from Madrid. . . ?” Here was death made visible, inescapable and swift. No swords were drawn—as yet—but what remained of his life was perhaps to be measured out in seconds rather than hours. An order was shouted and the troop came to a halt. Looking straight at Delancey, the officer bawled out a question. The words meant nothing but the sense might possibly mean “Which way—or did you see them?” or something similar. Taking a chance, Delancey shouted back “That way!” and pointed the way they were going. There was another sharp order and the troop galloped on again, hidden now in dust, the noise dwindling and finally dying away into silence. Delancey mopped his sweating forehead and told Hodder to drive on. He was never to know the explanation of this incident. At a small wood south of Utrera the coach kept a rendezvous with three horsemen. The operation had finished.

The admiral, it transpired, had not been entrusted with a vast sum. Delancey divided the silver into six heaps as the others watched, added a few other items of value to five of these and then kept the admiral's best sword for himself. “How is that?” he asked finally. “Is that fair?” The others agreed with words of thanks—remembering that the leader's share should have been at least double. “Very well then, Mr Rigault, lead the party which is riding to Portugal. Are you still with me, Hodder? Good! The rest of you, mount and ride like the devil. You have a hundred miles to go and you should do it in three days. Be off with you—and good luck!”

“Good luck to you, sir!” came their voices in chorus as the horsemen moved off.

“Take the reins, Hodder, and drive on. We want the road to Lebrija but I doubt if we shall go much further this evening. Cadiz lies just beyond and our journey ends at a point just to the south of that city. I had hoped to be there tomorrow, the 15th, but that is impossible. A few days more, however, and our work is done!”

“Well, sir, you know what my trade has been, I never thought to find myself a spy in enemy country, risking death every day. And I don't suppose that you expected to end this journey with a man like me as your only companion. How strange life is, to be sure!” “As compared with what, Mr Hodder?”

“Well—you have me there!”

With perhaps seventy miles to go, Delancey and Hodder did well to reach Cadiz on the afternoon of the 17th. Having hidden their coach in a wood they finished their journey on horseback and found accommodation at a small inn overlooking the harbour.

Looking on the distant sea, Delancey found that he was strangely moved. Through the past weeks he had been away from his true element. In earlier years he had wondered sometimes whether he was a seaman by accident or choice. The result of being so far from the sea for so long had been to convince him, and finally, that he could have no other career. And then, somehow, the sight of Cadiz reminded him of that other navy in which he ought to be serving. There before his eyes at last was the Spanish fleet with Langara's flag in the
Principe de Asturias.
These great ships made a splendid sight in the autumn sunshine, drawn up as they were in exact formation and surrounded by ordered activity with boats and barges going back and forth. There were no French ships there, they had evidently gone. Borrowing a telescope from the innkeeper, Delancey could see that the fleet was ready or almost ready for sea, for all the topmasts had been sent up and nearly all the yards were crossed. So much would be known to the British admiral at Gibraltar, whose frigates would be somewhere outside the harbour. But how to inform the admiral that Langara was to sail for Toulon?

A
FTER SUPPER on the evening of their arrival in Cadiz (September 17th) Delancey told Hodder that their next problem was to embark at the port of Léon. The intelligence he had gained would be of more value, taken promptly to Gibraltar, than would any further information he might hope to gain at Cadiz. He and Hodder should resume their journey as soon as possible and preferably on the following day.

“Very true, sir,” said Hodder. “You put everything very clearly indeed and I am entirely of your opinion.”