Red Shadow (3 page)

“You're better? You can listen to me?”

“Yes.”

“You've read Mackenzie's letter. He wrote it under the impression that his sentence would be carried out next day. It has not been carried out—it need never be carried out.”

Laura's mind was clear, but her thoughts moved slowly; they had a heavy, clogged feeling.

Basil Stevens repeated his last words.

“The sentence need not be carried out.” He paused, and then said very distinctly, “Whether it is carried out or not depends on you.”

The words came into Laura's mind. Her thoughts stood round and stared at them. They made nothing of them. She said,

“I don't understand.”

“Please try and understand, Miss Cameron. Mackenzie is under sentence of death. His fate is entirely in your hands. If you do one thing, he will be shot—if you do another, he will go free. Do you understand that? He will go quite free. There is no question of prison or anything of that sort.”

Laura looked at him.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“But you know what I've just been saying. It's for you to say whether Mackenzie is shot, or whether he goes free.”

Laura went on looking at him.

“How can it be?”

“I suppose that you would be willing to make some sacrifice to save his life?”

“Yes,” said Laura—just the one word in a soft failing voice. All her life and strength seemed to be drawn inwards about her consciousness of Jim. Her voice failed.

“Well, you can save him if you want to,” said Basil Stevens.

Laura said, “How?” and it seemed as if he hesitated.

At last he said, “Mackenzie can be—how shall I put it?—exchanged. He has been condemned to death for counter-revolutionary activities. The Russian Government considers that they have a claim against his life. They will press the claim unless it is to their advantage not to press it. Now it happens to be in your power to be able to offer them something which would be more to their advantage than their claim against Mackenzie.”

Laura leaned forward, her clasped hands upon the letter. A quick colour came and went in her cheeks.

“
I?
”

Basil Stevens nodded.

“Yes. It is fortunate for Mackenzie—isn't it?”

“
I?
” said Laura.

“You. You have it in your power to release him.”

“Mr Stevens——”

“Yes, I am going to tell you how. It is a business matter. The Russian Government have, as you may know, embarked upon a great scheme of industrial and agricultural expansion. They want machinery, railway plant, aeroplanes, agricultural implements, like tractors—you will have seen things about it in the papers, and you will have heard Mackenzie talk about it. His firm has a contract to supply tractors.”

“Yes.”

Basil Stevens made a gesture that cut across his explanations.

“I cannot go any farther until I have your assurance that you will treat what I am going to say as confidential.”

Laura's eyes dwelt on him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you are not at liberty to take what I am going to tell you to some friend whom you wish to consult—or, shall we say, to the Foreign Office? I am willing to give you some confidential information, but I am not willing that you should pass it on.” He smiled slightly and added, “You need not be alarmed, Miss Cameron—I am not going to tell you anything that will burden your conscience—it is merely a matter of trade secrets. You need have no objection to giving me your promise.”

“What has all this to do with Jim?” said Laura in a grave, slow voice.

“I will tell you when you have promised that you will not repeat—to anyone—what I am going to say.”

“I hardly know you,” said Laura. “I don't know what you are going to say. I can't promise.”

His straight, short eyebrows drew together in a frown. Then he made a gesture with his right hand.

“Very well, I won't ask you to promise—I will only tell you that if you talk, you will kill Mackenzie. That is not a threat—it is just a plain statement of fact.”

“Yes,” said Laura. “Will you tell me please?”

Basil Stevens leaned back in his chair.

“Do you know the name of Bertram Hallingdon?”

Laura had wondered what he could possibly be going to say. His question took her completely by surprise. Her lips parted in an involuntary exclamation.

“You know the name, Miss Cameron?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the man?”

“No, I don't know him. Everyone knows him by name.”

“Yet he is a relation of yours.”

“A distant one.”

“Your grandfather's half brother. That is not such a very distant relationship.”

“I've never met him—there was a family quarrel—I don't suppose he knows of my existence.”

Basil Stevens smiled slightly.

“Have you any objection to telling me what you know about Bertram Hallingdon?”

“I really know very little—just what everyone knows.”

“Go on, please, Miss Cameron.”

“Well, there's nothing to tell. He's very—rich. He's the head of a big engineering firm, isn't he?”

“The head of the Hallingdon combine. That means a little more than being the head of an engineering firm. Hallingdons controls a number of firms engaged in various branches of engineering. Is that all you know about Bertram Hallingdon?”

“I think so.”

“You did not know that he was dead?”

She was startled, but without knowing why.

“No—I didn't know.”

“He died this morning. He had been ill for some time.”

He was regarding her intently, and something in this regard set her heart beating. She waited for him to speak with a curious sense of fear.

“You are Bertram Hallingdon's heiress,” said Basil Stevens.

Laura's heart beat so hard that it shook her.

She said “No!” and saw that he was smiling again.

“You succeed to a very important position, Miss Cameron. May I be the first to congratulate you?”

Laura recovered herself.

“How do you know this?”

“Does that matter? I can assure you that my information is correct. Now, Miss Cameron—a little while ago you asked me what all this had to do with Jim Mackenzie? Do you begin to see what the connection may be?”

She said, “Go on.”

Basil Stevens went on.

“I told you that it was in your power to offer something which would induce the Russian Government to give up their claim against Mackenzie. The head of the Hallingdon combine has certainly got it in her power to make it worth their while to let Jim Mackenzie go. That's plain talking—isn't it?”

Laura lifted her hands and pressed them against her breast. A brilliant flame of colour sprang into her cheeks. She did not speak. Her eyes searched his face.

“It only remains for you to come to terms with them,” said Basil Stevens.

She spoke then in a voice that trembled with hope.

“What do they want?”

“Well, they want their
quid pro quo
—trade facilities, credits, and all that sort of thing.”

Laura stretched out her hands.

“And they'll let him go? You're sure?”

“Yes—quite sure.”

“Then of course—” she stood up, pushing back her veil—“whatever I can do—only it ought to be done quickly—he's in prison!”

“Please sit down, Miss Cameron. It is not quite as simple as that. There are conditions. I am afraid you will not like them. Will you please remember that they are not of my making?”

She sat down again.

“What conditions?”

“You will remember that I asked you whether you would be prepared to make a sacrifice.”

“You needn't have asked me that.”

Why did he waste time? If what he had told her was true, did he suppose that these business details mattered? Did he think that she was going to haggle over Jim's life? The whole Hallingdon combine might go up in smoke so long as Jim was safe.

“You may think it a big sacrifice,” said Basil Stevens.

“Tell me what it is.”

“There is a condition attached that you should agree to nominate a person approved by the Russian Government to the boards of the various firms in the Hallingdon combine.”

Laura's eyes widened.

“Could I do that?”

“Certainly.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I have seen Mr Hallingdon's will.”

“I am to nominate
Russians
?”

“You are to nominate a person approved by the Russian Government. This person is to have a seat on the board of every company in the combine.”

“But that would take time,” said Laura in a puzzled voice. “It would take a long time, wouldn't it? The will would have to be proved—I know that takes months—and Jim—Jim can't be in prison for months.”

“You would be required to nominate your husband,” said Basil Stevens.

CHAPTER IV

Laura started slightly. Her bewilderment increased.

“My husband?” she said. “They want me to nominate Jim?”

“Mackenzie is not your husband, Miss Cameron.”

Laura looked down at the silver of her wedding dress. She even smiled a little. He must be rather dense——

“Well, we're to be married next week,” she said.

“Mackenzie would not be a suitable nominee—I think you must see that yourself.”

Laura looked up again, puzzled, but not yet afraid.

“But you said——”

“I said your husband—I didn't say Jim Mackenzie.”

“What do you mean?” said Laura in a voice between fear and anger.

“Haven't I told you? You must nominate your husband. Mackenzie is not eligible for the position.”

Laura stood up.

“Mr Stevens—you don't realize what you're saying!”

“I am afraid it is you who do not realize, Miss Cameron. I am going to speak plainly. Your husband and your nominee must be a person approved by the Russian Government. Mackenzie scarcely fulfils that condition.”

As he rose and took a step towards her, she backed away from him, her hand on the chair rail, the long train about her feet. He took no more than the one step, and she stayed, leaning on the chair and looking at him.

She was beginning to understand. The blank puzzled look in her eyes was changing. He saw it flash into anger, whilst the brilliant colour flamed in her cheeks.

“How dare you?”

Again that fleeting smile.

“Easily, Miss Cameron! You see, I am trying to do you a service. The whole thing is, naturally, a shock to you. I am afraid that is unavoidable. You see, there is no time to beat about the bush and come gradually and tactfully to the point. It is a question of Mackenzie's life He is in prison at this moment, and he will be dead to-morrow unless—” He paused weightily.

The room filled with a horrible silence. Laura stood in it, and felt numb. It was like standing in ice-cold water—at first one felt the cold, and afterwards one felt nothing. The power to feel was gone, the words “he will be dead to-morrow” were frozen in her mind.

Basil Stevens broke the silence rather sharply.

“Are you faint?”

Laura shook her head.

“I will go away and leave you to think the matter over. I can give you an hour, not longer, or we should be running things too fine—there's the difference in time to consider, Mackenzie has got till to-morrow. But it will be to-morrow in Russia some hours earlier than here.”

Laura gripped the chair rail.

“How do I know you're speaking the truth?” she said.

“In what particular?”

She said, “How do I
know
?” and caught her breath.

He spoke in the same courteous and formal tone which he had employed throughout.

“If there is any point on which you are doubtful, I think I can suggest a way in which you can check what I have told you.”

“How?”

“You could ask the Foreign Office to cable for information. You need offer no further explanation than your very natural anxiety. You have had a letter telling you that Mackenzie is under sentence of death. You will not, of course, say how the letter came into your hands, and you will not mention my name. I think Mackenzie has a friend at the Foreign Office?”

“How did you know? Yes—there's Peter—Peter Severn—I could ask him—” Her voice trailed away.

“You can ring him up,” said Basil Stevens. “Perhaps you would like to change your dress first.”

Laura's frozen calm broke up. She threw out her hands with a wild gesture as if she were beating him away.

“You've come here with everything planned!” she said. “You know that Jim's in prison—you know that Mr Hallingdon is dead—you know that he has left me his business—you know about Peter Severn. You've got the whole thing planned out!”

“And if I have?”

She stood there trembling with her passionate impulse.

“And if I have, Miss Cameron—does that make Mackenzie's danger less—or more?”

The passionate impulse failed. Jim—she had to find out about Jim. She went over to the little writing-table where the telephone stood and picked up the instrument.

Basil Stevens watched her with a faintly satirical look. He could have wished that she had been of some other type. She reminded him of a car that he had once driven—a touch on the steering wheel, and you were in the ditch; another, and you were across the road. He liked a woman who was good company and ready for anything—an easy, sensual woman. With Laura Cameron's type you had to walk on egg-shells, and that did not amuse him in the least. He watched her seat herself, push aside her veil, and lean forward listening. Her profile was turned to him. There was a little pulse of colour in her cheek.

“I want to speak to Mr Severn.”