Chronicles of the Secret Service (13 page)

‘Voronoff is right,’ put in Turgenev, though with diffidence.
‘Would it not be better that one of us went to the bank instead of you, Nicholas?’

‘No,’ snarled Karen. ‘I will be there at ten. No report will have been made to the police by then or for some hours afterwards.’

‘But what about the “afterwards”,’ murmured Gortschakoff.

‘I will see to that. Once I am back here, there will be no need for me to go out again. You three and Vogel have the arrangements for the twentieth in hand.’

‘Ah! So the twentieth is the date settled?’ remarked Voronoff.

Karen nodded. He was beginning to recover from his spleen.

‘All will be present at the ceremony. Two bombs will be thrown into the midst of them. Gortschakoff, Keremsky, Vogel and Turgenev will stand on the edge of the crowd ready to make certain if any escape, but none will escape. Our plans are too well formed for that and the bombs are the most powerful we have ever had. You have them in your own care, Voronoff?’

The man in the dressing gown nodded.

‘They are in the cellar, packed in straw. You and I possess keys.’

‘Excellent. This blow will shake the British Empire from end to end and bring about its disintegration. Chaos will result. It will be an historic day.’ Karen’s wicked eyes sparkled. His whole attitude was that of a fanatic. His enthusiasm infected the others. They became no less excited than he. ‘It is a great, a marvellous scheme,’ he went on, ‘and I – I, Nicholas Karen, have conceived, and planned it all.’

For some moments the conversation continued on those emotional lines. Cousins shivered as though he had suddenly felt very chilly. It was Voronoff who brought his companions back to a more matter-of-fact level.

‘The two men you have selected, Karen,’ he remarked, ‘they will not fail at the crucial moment?’

The hunchback shook his head confidently.

‘They are zealots like us. They and their families have suffered wrongs since childhood. Their hatred is so great, it even startles me. No, they will not fail. Even if they do, our brave friends will be ready to act. They are prepared to sacrifice their lives, if need be, to render successful such a truly noble assassination.’

‘How much have you promised the two men?’

‘One thousand, five hundred pounds each. It will be handed to them the day before the great deed takes place. They will be able to send it to their families.’

‘They will be wise to do so,’ commented Turgenev dryly. ‘Their chances of surviving will be small.’

The hunchback shrugged his shoulders.

‘Perhaps, in the confusion, they will be able to get away. But it does not matter. If they die, they will die heroes of a great cause. From the time the money is handed to them, Gortschakoff and Keremsky will never leave their sides.’ He paused thoughtfully, then went on: ‘At present they live in the district called Deptford’ – he pronounced it Dep-ti-for, but Cousins understood – ‘I think it would be wise to bring them here one night, and keep them here. What say you, my friend?’

The idea did not appeal to Voronoff. He protested vigorously but, as Cousins had already discovered, once Karen made up his mind about anything, and insisted on it, the others fell into line like a lot of sheep. He insisted on this occasion and Voronoff, although antagonistic to the scheme, capitulated.

‘We will now sleep,’ pronounced Karen. ‘There is no need for
Vogel to stay with the two upstairs. They can remain bound and gagged, and it is impossible for them to escape. Gortschakoff, go and tell him to come down – he will be thirsty.’ The man with the broken nose nodded, and left the room. ‘At eight I will see the young man,’ he went on to the others, ‘make him sign the cheque, and write the letter. When I return from the bank, and the money is safe in my hands, the two can die.’

‘What is to be done with their bodies?’ asked Voronoff anxiously.

Karen chuckled sneeringly.

‘Always you are afraid, my friend. You need have no fear. The respectable Russian merchant of the City of London will not be compromised in any way. I guarantee that. We will remove the bodies far away from this house tomorrow night.’

Voronoff did not appear altogether at ease, even after that promise. He shook his head doubtfully.

‘To me,’ he confessed, ‘there seem many flaws in this scheme for obtaining money and despatching this man and woman. I am—’

‘Ah, bad!’ snapped the hunchback. ‘You are a fat fool.’

The tall, gaunt, hairless man with the repulsive eyes entered the room with Gortschakoff. He threw a notecase, some silver, a watch, and two or three rings on the table.

‘I removed these from the two,’ he announced.

Karen opened the case; took therefrom a bundle of notes and a cheque. The former, with the silver, were counted, after which they were stowed away in one of his pockets.

‘Thirty-four pounds and seven shillings,’ he stated with satisfaction. ‘It is good. The watch and rings and the notecase
can be buried with them. It will be safer. I will keep with me the cheque book for the present. It is time you departed, Keremsky. Soon dawn will break.’

Cousins waited to hear no more. Crawling, until he had left the gravel drive and was on a lawn, he straightened, and set off at a run for the entrance gates, keeping well amidst the trees. Owing to the fact that he had, for so long, been looking into a lighted room, his eyes had become unaccustomed to the darkness, with the result that he sustained several painful bumps. However, he made light of these, and reached his objective just as he heard the engine of the Bentley being started. He gave one of the open gates a push that caused it to swing across the drive. Keremsky would be forced to draw up, in order to clear the way for the car. When he got out, Cousins intended to enter the tonneau, prepared to act. His automatic had been removed from its hiding place; was now in his hand. Crouching behind a bush he waited.

The Bentley came down the drive with hardly any sound, apart from the rasping of the wheels over the gravel. Its brilliant headlights picked out the scene with startling clearness, giving a theatrical effect to the surroundings, but the Englishman had no fear of being observed. He was well hidden. The car stopped directly opposite him; the bearded Russian descended, and walked to the gate. Cousins heard his muttered exclamation of surprise. No doubt, he was wondering what had caused such a heavy, five-barred affair to swing across the drive, when there was no wind. Apparently his suspicions were in no way roused, however, since he merely strode to the gate, and pushed it back; returned at once, without hesitation, to the car. The
Secret Service agent had calculated upon the fellow’s obvious obtuseness. An unerring judgement of men, as indeed all who are successful in such a profession must be, Cousins had quickly sized up the Russians, forming the opinion that, with the exception of Karen and Turgenev, their intelligence was not of a high order. Turgenev, he had decided, was actually the most dangerous, even though the hunchback had by far the cleverest brain. Karen, however, allowed himself to be influenced by personal considerations and was overconfident.

By the time Keremsky had resumed his seat at the wheel, Cousins was crouching inside the car. Like a shadow he had flitted from his hiding place, opened the door, and crept in. The Russian had heard no sound above the soft, rhythmic purring of the magnificent engine. Indeed, there had been no sound to hear. He slipped in his gears, and the Bentley glided away in the direction of Loughton. It had reached the village, when something cold touched his head just behind the left ear. At the same time, a voice, the tone of which was equally chilly, told him, in perfect Russian, that if he did not do exactly as directed the weapon, caressing the back of his head, would be fired, with an unfortunate result for Keremsky. There is no mistaking the feel of the business end of a pistol. Such an experience has a paralysing effect upon most people. It paralysed Ivan to such an extent that his hands fell from the wheel, and he stiffened as though he had suddenly congealed. Fortunately his foot also left the accelerator, otherwise the car would have swerved on to the pavement, and there might have been something of a crash. Instead it slowed down; presently came to a halt.

Being still in gear, the engine stopped. Cousins had timed
his action admirably. A few yards away was the police station. Ordering Keremsky to descend from the car, and hold his hands high above his head, he followed. The Russian might have been prepared to sacrifice his life ‘to render successful a truly noble assassination’, but he was obviously not eager to sacrifice it by making an attempt to turn the tables on the man who was now threatening him with death if he did not do exactly as he was told. He obeyed orders like an automaton, marching to the police station, his arms stretched heavenwards, without even daring to catch a glimpse at the person who had so abruptly and so rudely transformed him from a contented, optimistic being to a shocked, fear-stricken wretch. There was not a soul abroad to witness the amazing and diverting spectacle of a dirty little tramp shepherding a great, burly, bearded fellow into the arms of the law at the point of an automatic pistol. The officers on duty, however, received the surprise of their lives. Possibly they were, or had been, bemoaning the fact that nothing ever happened at Loughton. If so, something certainly happened now.

A sergeant, looking distinctly sleepy, sat at his high desk in the office, aimlessly turning over the pages of the uninteresting charge book. Opposite him, on a bench, dozed a constable. They came to their feet with astounded exclamations as a big man appeared, his hands raised high above his head, followed by perhaps the smallest and most disreputable tramp they had ever seen. For a perceptible period, neither of the officials on duty was able to utter a word; then the sergeant found his voice.

‘What’s all this?’ he demanded in authoritative tones. ‘Who are you?’

‘Don’t bother to ask questions now,’ returned Cousins. ‘“Theirs not to question why; theirs but to do or die.” Not that I am asking either of you to die, but I certainly want you to “do”. Here, hold this,’ he thrust his automatic into the bewildered constable’s hand. ‘Shoot him, if he so much as blinks an eyelid.’

Too much surprised to do anything else, the officer held the weapon pointed at the Russian, whose back was still turned to Cousins. The latter stooped down, and removed the dilapidated shoe from his right foot. The sergeant decided he was being made the victim of some outrageous practical joke.

‘If you don’t explain the meaning of this tomfoolery,’ he stormed, ‘I’ll lock you both up until you become sober.’

Cousins straightened himself to his full stature – which meant that his eyes could just look over the top of the desk – and grinned cheerfully. His wrinkles, merging amazingly into myriads of happy little creases, overcame the sergeant’s wrath. Despite himself, the latter chuckled, but he became deadly serious when he observed the symbol that the little tramp was holding towards him, cupped in his dirty hand. His eyes opened wide; a prolonged whistle pursed his lips. His manner underwent a marked transformation.

‘I see you understand,’ murmured Cousins. ‘Excellent.’

‘What do you want me to do, sir?’ asked the sergeant.

The Secret Service man returned the emblem to its hiding place in his shoe, which was again donned. He then took the revolver from the policeman, who appeared more perplexed than ever at the sudden change in his superior.

‘First of all,’ directed Cousins, ‘search him thoroughly.’

This was done by the bemused constable, under the watchful
eyes of the other two. During the process, Keremsky came face to face with his captor for the first time and, as he recognised the tramp who had played Noughts and Crosses with his leader, his little, pig-like eyes threatened to start from his head, his mouth dropped ludicrously open. For some time he could only stare stupidly; then a volley of abuse in choice Russian poured from his lips. Cousins listened, but did not bother to reply. Ivan ceased abruptly, however, when the pistol was raised threateningly, and his face paled at the thought that he was about to be shot. Nothing of interest was found on him, all articles being piled on the sergeant’s desk. There was not a weapon of any sort amongst them, unless a large clasp knife could be given that designation.

‘Now lock him up in your strongest cell, Sergeant,’ ordered Cousins, ‘and don’t under any circumstances whatever, open the door until men of the Special Branch come for him.’

The three of them escorted the crestfallen Russian to a cell. He was locked in, and promptly despatched a further broadside of expletives when he was certain he was not to be shot. They could still hear his voice as they turned along the passage and re-entered the office. The sergeant jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

‘What is he, sir?’ he asked curiously.

‘Just an anarchist of Russian nationality,’ Cousins told him calmly.

The two policeman looked at each other and whistled. These were great events for Loughton. The constable’s face actually paled with excitement. It could be easily seen that he was burning to know who the tramp was, but dared ask no
questions. His superior’s respectful demeanour towards the little man warned him it might be unwise. Cousins requested the use of the telephone. Asking for a certain number that is in no directory, he was immediately put through and, for ten minutes, perched on the sergeant’s high stool spoke concisely and rapidly into the mouthpiece ending with detailed instructions and directions. The police officers pretended not to be listening, but they would not have been human had they closed their ears to that which was being said. Cousins was extremely clever at the manner in which he conveyed all information to the other end without divulging more to his hearers in the police station than he wished them to know. Nevertheless, they learnt enough to startle and excite them tremendously. At the end of his conversation, the pseudo-tramp jumped off his stool.

‘In half an hour or so,’ he declared to the sergeant, ‘three or four cars will arrive with men from headquarters. Do you know the house of a Russian called Voronoff?’