Devil to Pay (33 page)

Back in his room, Delancey studied the map. A banker or merchant travelling on from Cordova would go to Seville, most likely, even if he were finally bound for Cadiz. A courier, by contrast, with despatches for Cadiz, would avoid Seville, parting company with the banker at Ecija. A plan for intercepting either or both would centre upon some place like La Carlota, only about 25 miles distant. This time, however, there would be a minimum of violence. Like Mr Hodder, he would keep the peace. How odd to think that he might end with that shabby little thief as his only companion! And yet there was something about Hodder which suggested a latent patriotism. He might have hoped for a better ally but fate could easily have sent him a worse.

Delancey left Cordova next day, Ramos being instructed to gather what information he could about the couriers likely to be met with along the road. The party rode into La Carlota that evening and Ramos was able by then to report that couriers bound for Cadiz passed that way about twice a week, the next being expected on about the 10th. He would undoubtedly stay at the same inn as Delancey's party, that is the Principe Heredero. He would travel by coach accompanied by a sergeant and four troopers. Delancey decided to wait, his mind going back to Don Quixote. He had the glimmerings of an idea but one irrelevant to the immediate problem. For this all he needed was a dose or two of opiate. . . .

Before the 9th some casual inquiries had identified the room which the courier would occupy and established the fact that it would be locked at night, that the sergeant's bed would be placed across the door and that there would be a sentry at the head of the stair. Of these various obstacles the lock was the one most easily dealt with because the key was left in the lock on the previous day, allowing Hodder to make a replica of it. The door was also provided, however, with two massive wooden bolts on the inside. These were removed privily and sawn nearly through from the back and then lightly smeared with olive oil. Still looking impressive, they would snap under pressure. There was admittedly no way of securing the door again after the room had been visited, so Delancey decided to convince the courier that his room had been entered by a common thief. Money would be stolen and luggage ransacked but the leather bag containing the despatches would appear to be untouched.

The courier arrived on the expected day, turning out to be a middle-aged lieutenant with only one eye, walking with a limp and addicted to brandy. While Rigault engaged him in conversation, Delancey went to fetch drinks for the party—pausing on the way back for a word with Hodder, who deftly doctored the courier's glass and later did the same for the sergeant and the troopers. That night Delancey and Manning passed the sleeping sentry at the head of the stairs and moved the sergeant, bed and all, away from the door he was supposed to guard. Hodder then opened the door with his replica key, quietly broke the almost severed bolts and led the way into the darkened room. Bisson followed but Ramos kept watch in the corridor. The courier was sleeping soundly and it was no great problem to slide the leather bag from beneath his pillow. At that instant came the sound of footsteps. The stairs creaked and a door closed somewhere. Someone was coming quietly down the stairs from the floor above. The light from a candle was reflected in the polished floor of the landing. If it was the landlord he would see that the sergeant's bed had been moved, that the door of the courier's room stood open, that thieves were in the house. The noise would wake the courier and—without pursuing this train of thought Delancey left the room, closed the door behind him and stood face to face with a pretty maidservant whose candle was fairly shaking in her hand. He knew that his only chance was to put her in the wrong. “What are you doing?” he demanded in Spanish, signalling Ramos to join him. Taking his cue from Richard, Ramos repeated the question: “What are you doing? Why are you here? Why aren't you asleep?” An older girl might have asked in turn what Ramos was doing at that time of night. This girl, luckily, was young and confused, a fact which allowed Delancey to press his advantage. “Are you a thief?” he asked and Ramos repeated the question. “We had best call the landlord,” he added. “No, no!” the girl wailed but with sense enough to weep quietly. “Go back to bed then,” said Delancey, “and we'll say no more about it!” Ramos led her up to her garret leaving Delancey to wonder what would be said in the morning.

“Tell her to plead sickness,” he said to Ramos, “and keep out of sight.” The message was delivered but Delancey was left wondering what she would actually do. The poor child would have to tell someone, he knew, either another maidservant or the boy she had wanted to visit. What would be the result?

While this little scene was being enacted Bisson carried out a realistic burglary, slitting linings and leaving clothes all over the floor. He took away with him the courier's purse, his watch, his pistols and his gold-hilted sword, afterwards dropping the empty purse into the street and hiding the other loot (apart from the money) up the chimney. Hodder, meanwhile, took the leather bag to his room, where he opened it skilfully. Rigault then searched the bag and took from it the more promising letters, all those bearing an official seal, and handed the rest back to Hodder. The expert Hodder replaced them and relocked the bag, sliding it once more beneath the courier's pillow. He then left the room and helped Manning lift the sergeant and his bed into position before the courier's door. The whole operation took only half an hour, disturbing only that one girl and leaving all quiet again until morning. The present sentry might be relieved presently but the new sentry would see nothing unusual and would conclude that all was well.

The stolen documents numbered five and no one of them was interesting in itself. A lieutenant's resignation was accepted. The report of a court of inquiry was formally acknowledged—it concerned the recent loss of stores on board the
San Leandro.
A letter to the harbour master at Cadiz conveyed an official reprimand—something to do with a collision in harbour between a gun-vessel and a water-boat. A certain midshipman was to be dismissed from the
Neptuno,
having given a false date of birth and being, in fact, too young to serve. The only letter which seemed to deserve a second reading was from the ministry to a certain official of the dockyard at Cadiz. Its purport was obscured by its continual reference to previous correspondence, as also by the technical nature of the subject under discussion. Certain ships “those listed in paragraph 17 of the letter under reference” were to have some structural alterations, something to do with fire precautions in the magazine. Pages of description followed, with diagrams and tables of quantity and neither Ramos (translating) nor Delancey (listening) could make out what was to be done or by whom or when. It was worse than any document from the Navy Board which had come Delancey's way By the time Ramos had reached the last pages, following the tabulated summary, Delancey sensed that the author of the document had himself lost all hope of explaining anything. He had finally turned, in fact, to another and a possibly more effective means of communication. He did this in a final desperate postscript which read as follows:

“To avoid any possibility of confusion, Rear-Admiral de Grado, who is fully informed in the matter, will travel to Cadiz in two days time and will explain any aspects of the subject that are not fully understood. He will be provided with the means of purchasing such material as may not be found in the dockyard.”

From this it seemed possible, though not certain, that the rear-admiral was to bring money as well as expert guidance. Delancey, for his part, could not imagine how anything would ever be found in a Spanish dockyard; or in a British one either, for that matter. He hoped, therefore, that a large sum would be needed. Or would the “means of purchasing” turn out to be some written authority for payment? Having finished his task of translation, Ramos passed the document over to Delancey Glancing at the foot of the last page—before the postscript—Delancey then saw the lines which Ramos had not bothered to translate:

“In case the fleet should have sailed a copy of this letter has been sent to Toulon.”

So that was Langara's destination! No copy had been sent to Brest or Rochefort, only to Toulon. There could be only one reason for that. Delancey's search for intelligence was over. He must somehow pass the news to Gibraltar.

There was uproar at the inn next morning, the 11th, when the theft was discovered. At first light the courier was shouting for the landlord and questioning the servants. The other guests peered over the banisters, the most helpful of them being Rigault who said that he heard sounds in the small hours: the footsteps, he had supposed, of some belated arrival. Of the courier's party the most embarrassed was the sergeant, who had somehow to explain how the door he had been guarding should have been forced by intruders. A watchman had found the empty purse in the street and the magistrates of La Carlota expressed their belief that the thieves were strangers from out of town. As for the courier himself, he had no money to pay the innkeeper and was grateful for the small loan offered him by Delancey. The maid did not appear and Ramos reported that she had not come down to the kitchen. Still cursing, the one-eyed lieutenant went on his way, attributing his headache to the poor quality of the brandy he had drunk the previous night. The sergeant, who had not tasted the brandy, had much the same headache but he knew better than to complain about it. His only consolation was that the leather bag had not been touched. There was, thank God, no actual breach of security.

When Delancey's party left, going in the same direction, they bore left at Ecija and did so without anyone grumbling. With the possibility—not the certainty—of loot, the group was united again. Delancey had at least two days to prepare his trap and the place he had chosen was on the road to Cadiz rather than on the road to Seville. Just beyond Marchena was a minor turning which led to a small town called Paradas, lying perhaps two miles off the main road, which goes on to the town of Utrera, a place of some consequence. It was in this area that Delancey rehearsed his campaign for 48 hours, going over every phase, making certain purchases, and examining every inch of the ground. When confident that each man knew exactly what to do, he called them together at the Paradas Inn and ended his final instructions with these words:

“If my plan succeeds and if my information is correct, we shall end the coming campaign with a captured sum of money; not a great sum but enough to reward us for our trouble. I propose to divide that equally among us, hoping to have no dispute over it. It may well be that the division of the prize-money may have to be done hurriedly. It may well be that we may separate then, most of you wanting to reach Portugal by the shortest route through Seville and Huelva, so I shall say farewell now. I have to thank you all for your help. We have passed through some dangers together. We have undertaken a long and tiring journey. We have gained some information that may be of value to our admirals. We shall end, I hope, by making some money. It will then be our hope to leave Spain without delay, most of you into Portugal and I through a small port south of Cadiz. Good luck to you all! I trust that we shall meet again some day and that I shall see you all well and prosperous, remembering over our ale the strange adventures we have had by sea and land. Goodbye and good fortune!”

There was a chorus of farewells, the men crowding round to shake Delancey's hand. “You were a good skipper,” they said. But Hodder would have no farewell, saying, “I'll stick by you, sir, like I said.”

Rear-Admiral de Grado's coach had left Marchena and was heading mainly downhill for the town of Utrera, where the admiral expected to spend the night of September 14th. He was in a cheerful mood for the day was fine and the road in relatively good repair. He had cause for satisfaction because his career, which he had thought at an end, had been suddenly revived. He was known, he flattered himself, as a sound administrator if not as a fighting admiral. He had nevertheless been allowed to retire, his services seemingly unwanted. Now, however, he had been given an important mission. If he did his work well he might be given some further and higher appointment, perhaps (who could tell?) with promotion. Travelling through La Mancha during the last few days he had often, and inevitably, thought of Cervantes—who had served, after all, in the Spanish navy. He would have to address the dockyard officers soon after his arrival. Would it be appropriate, he wondered, to make some reference to Cervantes' hero? He decided to try the idea on his flag lieutenant, Pedro de Lares.

“In my speech at the dockyard I thought of making some comment on our journey through La Mancha and our passing the Sierra Morena. I might end with a reference to Don Quixote. How do you think that would be received?”

“Very well indeed, Admiral!” replied de Lares. “A further mention of Lope de Vega and Calderon might add something more to the impression you would make.” Pedro wondered, privately, whether it was wise for the old admiral to draw any comparison with Don Quixote but he very properly kept his doubts to himself. A flag lieutenant is not supposed to argue but rather to assist and applaud.

“It is good to be making better progress,” the admiral went on, “with the hills mostly in our favour. I can almost smell the sea already! Do you know Cadiz, Pedro?”

“No, sir.”

“I have not been there for some years but I remember it as a fine old city built on what is almost an island, well fortified, with the cathedral dome rising above the ramparts. Like Venice, it has a character that is almost oriental.”

“I was once there, sir,” said Diego Escalante, the admiral's secretary. “It was in summer and I remember how pleasant it was as compared with the heat and dust of Seville.”

“It can be quite hot enough for me,” said the admiral. “But not at this time of year. It should be pleasant, I think, for our visit.”