Dennis Wheatley - The Man Who Missed The War (1945) (doc).doc

Dennis Wheatley

The Man Who Missed The War

    Philip Vaudell leaves the United States on a solitary raft. Instead of drifting into European waters, he is carried down to the Antarctic where, amidst its eternal snows, he discovers a large area with a warm climate and populated by lost races who still practise human sacrifice.

    With Philip was the other real troubling the enticing shape of redheaded Gloria, who had stowed away on his raft. Together they encounter perils in the true Wheatley tradition of adventure, rising to a terrific and truly satisfying climax.

    (At a time when German submarines were sinking so much Allied shipping that Britain faced the danger of starvation, Dennis Wheatley then a member of the War Cabinet's Joint Planning Staff suggested that raft convoys, moved by the Gulf Stream and prevailing winds, should be used to float essential supplies across the Atlantic. This story is based on that idea.)

     Dedication for

IRIS SUTHERLAND

     who was my invaluable secretary through the dark days of 194142, and who has now most generously given up her rest days from her war job to deciphering my handwritten manuscript, in order that a fair typed copy of this present book should reach my publishers and readers with a minimum of delay.

     Dennis Wheatley

     10 Chatsworth Court,

     London, W.8

     VE Day 1945

Chapter 1

The Challenge

    If Admiral Jolly had not been nominated to attend the Naval Conference on Victualling and Supply that autumn: if the conference had been convened at any place other than Portsmouth; if Philip Vaudell's father, Engineer Captain Vaudell, RN., had not, many years earlier, come to the rescue of the gallant Admiral in a house of dubious reputation not far removed from the waterfront at Wang-hi-way then Philip's life might have run its normal course.

    But the Fates had decreed otherwise. An ugly fracas in a Chinese teahouse, where, on a sultry night long ago, two young British Naval officers had fought back to back against curved knives wielded by an angry yellow crowd, was to have repercussions on the son, as yet unborn, of one of them. By the same spinning of the Three Weird Sisters: a girl child from an American city was to found a new dynasty in a distant land; a Russian prince was to lose the strangest kingdom ever ruled by mortal man; and Hitler was to be struck a mortal blow at the most critical phase of Germany's second bid to conquer the world.

    The day was September the 10th, the year 1937, the scene a medium sized house set in its own trim gardens, looking out across parched grassland to the greenyblue sea of Alverstoke Bay, near Portsmouth.

    Its owner, Engineer Captain Ralph Vaudell, was a careful man; not so much from inclination as from the habit of years as he had never been blessed with a private income, and his wife had died years before, leaving him to bring up their two children. In consequence, he did not often entertain, but tonight he was giving a small dinner party, and his womenfolk were in an unaccustomed flutter.

    Ellen his daughter, whose birth seventeen years earlier had resulted in her mother's death, was for the twentieth time giving a last touch to the flowers in the drawing room, in between self conscious preenings before the overmantel mirror to reassure herself that her newly acquired makeup could not be improved upon.

    Mrs. Marlow, fat, homely, boundlessly good natured, the Captain's governess when a boy and the only mother Ellen had ever known, wheezed and tustled a little as, displaying unwonted activity, she propelled her bulky form in a shuttle service between the kitchen and the drawing room.

    `There!' she exclaimed, coming to rest at last in her favourite armchair. `Cook says dinner will be done to a turn by eight, so I only hope they're punctual.'

    `Don't fuss, Pin!' replied Ellen with assured calm. `Of course they'll be punctual. When the Canon was preparing me for confirmation he used to talk about lots of things that had nothing to do with religion, and I remember him saying once, "Punctuality is the politeness of princes!

    `Did he indeed?' Pin Marlow chuckled. `Let's hope he thinks of himself as one then, though a funnier prince than that fat little ball of a man it would be difficult to imagine. Considering how rarely we see him, it's a puzzle to me what led your father to ask him tonight.'

    Ellen shrugged her slim shoulders: `I think it was just that Father wanted someone outside the Services to meet the Admiral; and the Beal-Brookmans are distant relations of ours, aren't they?'

    `Yes, my lamb. The Canon's wife was your dear mother's cousin, though it was only after Mrs. Beal-Brookman's death that he came to live at Gosport three no, four winters ago.'

    At that moment Captain Vaudell came hurrying in. He was tallish, lean, grizzled, in his late forties, and the kindness of his eyes belied the hardness of his mouth. After a swift glance round, he moved over to a small table on which drinks were set, to see that everything on it was in order.

    `Where's Philip?' he suddenly demanded of Pin. `Wool gathering as usual, I suppose. Probably forgotten that we have guests tonight.'

    `What nonsense you talk!' Pin answered placidly. `The boy's not as bad as all that. He'll be down in a moment.'

    She had hardly finished speaking when Philip joined them. Like his father, he was tall, but he had none of his father’s, rugged compactness. He seemed all long, ungainly limbs, and his awkwardness was accentuated by large knobbly knuckled hands which always gave the impression of being out of control. His fine, high forehead and thin cheeks gave him a somewhat ascetic appearance, but his blue eyes were quick and friendly.

    His father's glance appraised him from top to toe with a swiftness born of years of professional inspections.

    `Well?' Philip inquired, a shade anxiously.

    `You'll do.' The elder man's mouth relaxed into a faint smile. It was obvious to him that for once the boy had made an attempt to subdue his shock of fair unruly hair, but the sight of the ill tied bow caused him to add: `It's a pity, though, that up at Cambridge they don't teach you to wear your clothes a bit better.'

    `That's hardly a tutor's job,' Philip shrugged; `and few of the men bother much about clothes. Such tons of more interesting things to think about.'

    Captain Vaudell could hardly quarrel with that statement, as he knew that his son's whole mind was absorbed in studying to become a Civil Engineer, and, although he said little about it, he was extremely proud of the boy's rapid progress.

    Ellen walked quickly over to her brother and retied his tie. She had only just finished when Canon Beal-Brookman was announced.

    The Canon was a short, fat, red faced man possessed of

    boundless energy and a certain artless charm which few could resist. As usual, he was a little breathless, having hurried from one of the dozen meetings which his forceful personality dominated each day in a dogged attempt to enforce social progress on a large, poor and pathetic subdiocese.

    In less than a minute he had wrung his host fiercely by the hand, inquired after Pin Marlow's asthma, complimented Ellen on her adult appearance, given Philip a friendly pat on the arm, and, having accepted a pink gin, sunk it with gusto.

    `Good gracious!' he exclaimed a minute later. `I drank that one up pretty quickly, didn't I? Wasn't really thinking what I was doing. Never mind! It's a pleasant change from the innumerable cups of tea that misguided women think it their duty to force upon us clergy. If only they would all provide Earl Grey or Orange Pekoe it wouldn't be so bad. The thick black muck I have to swallow plays the devil with my digestion.'

    Without any false embarrassment he held out his glass to be refilled, just as the door opened and the maid ushered in Vice Admiral Sir James Jolly.

    Although he did not look as fat as the little Canon, the Admiral was the heavier of the two by several stone, and his weight was emphasised by his rather ponderous gait. He was a florid faced man with a fringe of grey hair round his shiny bald head and blue eyes which he liked to believe were stern, but which had a disconcerting habit of displaying a sudden twinkle at moments when he allowed himself to forget his self importance. Having shaken hands all round, he gave free reign to his obvious pleasure at spending an evening with his old friend's family. After ten minutes' easy chatter, they went in to dinner.

    The meal was orthodox tomato soup, fried fillets of sole, roast saddle of mutton and Charlotte Russe, washed down by a good claret. The Canon ate as though racing against time, but in spite of that he contributed his full share to the conversation. The Admiral talked more readily when any Service matter was touched upon, and Vaudell, having similar interests, naturally encouraged him. Pin and Ellen put in an occasional mild platitude, but Philip remained almost silent, wondering how soon the guests would go so that he could get upstairs again to his beloved books.

    At last the nuts and port were put on the table, and the ladies withdrew. The talk then turned upon the old days in China and went on to Singapore with its new vast Naval Dockyard, from a visit to which the admiral had only recently returned.

    ` ...