The Rape of Venice by Dennis Wheatley Read Free Book Online Page B

Even so, given a little time, there was every reason to suppose that in the course of conversation he would make some remark about the war, and so provide a natural opening, it was, after all, only Saturday morning, and that strengthened Roger’s feeling that there was no hurry yet to grasp the ugly nettle.
    They spent a further twenty minutes in a leisurely progress round the glasshouses. Malderini proved very knowledgeable about plants and his conversation with Roger disclosed a quick, well-ordered mind—another depressing indication that, when they did get to business, he would prove a hard nut to crack. To his wife he scarcely said a word and she never spoke unless first addressed by him. Roger felt deeply sorry for her but could do no more than give her an occasional friendly smile. More and more he wished the weekend over and that, having done his best for Mr. Pitt, he would never be called on to set eyes on Rinaldo Malderini again.
    It was shortly after they had entered the orchid house that they caught sight of one of Georgina’s footmen, and another man, hurrying towards them. The footman pointed Roger out, then the other, who wore a plain riding livery, came throughthe glass door, removed his hat and, taking a letter from a leather pouch at his waist, handed it to Roger. A glance at the seal showed him that it was from the Prime Minister. With a word of apology to his companions, he tore it open and ran his eye over the single paragraph. It read:
    If you have not yet opened the business with Signor R. M. refrain from doing so. I have just learnt that, contrary to my expectations, after spending three weeks as a private person in the other camp, he accompanied his ambassador to the Foreign Office on Friday morning and presented credentials as a Plenipotentiary Extraordinary. Now that my cousin, Grenville, is in a position to put our cards on the table openly, I shall have no further need of you as intermediary. W.P.
    Malderini coughed and remarked politely, ‘I trust that this urgent message does not contain bad news.’
    â€˜The very contrary,’ Roger laughed. ‘For a friend I had undertaken a most uncongenial task, and one which I was convinced would cost him a lot of money to no good purpose. He writes me now that he relieves me of it; so I could not be more delighted.’
    Thrusting the letter into his pocket, he gave expression to his pleasure by dismissing the messenger with a guinea, then cutting some of Georgina’s choicest orchids and, with a bow, laying them in the slim brown hands of the Princess.
    But he was wrong in his belief that now he would never have cause to remember the ugly Venetian and the beautiful Indian except as the most casual acquaintances, and that he would not be called on to play any further part in the affairs of Venice. Fate, in the person of Mr. Pitt, had woven the first tenuous thread that had brought the three of them together. It was soon to coil and strengthen into a terrible bond that would alter the whole course of their lives, and a time was to come when Roger would hold the fate of the thousand-years-old Serene Republic in the hollow of his hand.

3
A Very Strange Performance
    That afternoon Georgina took her guests into Guildford. The drive through the well-wooded countryside made a pleasant excursion, and it had occurred to her that with such difficult guests as the Malderinis a visit to Guildford caves would serve to while away an hour or so. The caves were a natural formation but had been occupied by primitive man from great antiquity.
    Provided with a candle apiece and led by a guide, they traversed the narrow tunnels and halted in the larger chambers, a little awed by the weird effects of their shadows on the rough hewn walls and ceilings. When they were assembled in the largest cave there came a sudden sharp cry. It was uttered by Sheridan’s wife as her husband, bored with the caves, had decided to lighten the solemnity which had